#nows your chance to be a big soot

[pnkq]

BIG SOOT

(i was whimpering out of pain the entire time i made this)

Ok I just want to say that I did not draw this, I just don't know who did.

[avocado-writing]

Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his shy gn s/o nervously asking if they can kiss him on the lips?

note: going to answer his as if it’s their first kiss together reader is asking for!

bg3 Taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13

Astarion

tries to downplay how genuinely pleased he is by putting on his typical bravado “oh well I knew you couldn’t keep away, darling”

secretly chuffed because he understands having boundaries over your body and he’s pleased that you’re comfortable enough with him to ask

doesn’t want to make a big deal about it in camp but doesnt hide, either — wraps an arm around your waist and brings you to where he’s standing in the mouth of his tent

wants to make it special. catches your lips with his fangs a little but not too hard.

melts a little when he feels your hand gently run up his chest.

when you break apart, smiling, he feels a little thrill at how happy you look ❤️

Gale

surprised you’re asking! out loud says, “you don’t need permission to kiss me, they’re always gladly accepted.”

but sees how much courage it took for you to ask. Is so happy you trust him.

looks around, “where do you want me…? it has to be perfect…”

that’s enough to break some tension, you laugh and press your lips to his

his hands settle on your waist. not too tight, just enough to anchor you to the moment

you can feel him smile into it 💕

“well I certainly hope that we’re able to repeat that.”

you laugh, and go in for another one…

Wyll

my man is a romantic. this kiss is at a planned event.

not that he’s pressuring you into it! he just wants to have a lovely romantic date and it so happens that that’s where you feel safe enough to ask.

you're sequestered away from the group, little picnic spread out, he wanted to have a nice moment for just the two of you.

you gather up the courage to ask him and he’s surprised for a moment! but then he smiles; hand sliding up your arm to cup your face, his lips meet yours when you lean into it

it’s perfect. soft, gentle, loving. you can feel the emotion behind it.

he’s smiling when he pulls back. for a moment, you want to apologise for not instigating this sooner. but then, as if he’s read your mind:

“you’re worth waiting a lifetime for.”

Halsin

honoured you trust him enough to ask.

he doesn’t care about rushing into anything. he’s an older man, happy to wait to take things at your pace.

not to say he isn’t pleased you asked — he is! he’s wanted to know what your kiss tastes like for a while now.

when we see him kiss in game there’s a ferocity behind it. but this time it’s soft, he lets you take the lead with pace.

uses his body to shield you from the rest of the camp so that the moment isn’t too public.

hands softly wrapping around you, bringing you to his broad chest. keeping you safe against him.

he mutters against your lips. “nature truly look its time with you. you are perfect…”

if he says it enough, maybe you’ll believe it’s true.

Dammon

is so immediately thrown he can’t even answer for a moment.

is the heat in his cheeks from the forge or something else…?

manages to find his words after a moment, “oh… yes! hang on, let me…”

cleans his hands, quickly splashes his face with water to remove the soot, turns to you-

“how should I…”

you reach over and gently press your lips to his, surprising him!

but then he wraps his arms around you, tail swishing in such enthusiasm it takes out a row of tools

he’s a bit nervous to start with but gets super into it

wants to do it again and again… if you’ll let him…

(and you do)

Rolan

you ask if you can kiss him.

an immediate “YES”

he’s so excited. there’s a non-zero chance this is his first kiss.

tries to be soft and careful but can’t hold in how happy he is.

teeth clack together a bit, maybe a bit too eager with tongue… but you find yourself smiling into it anyway 💕

again, another tail swisher. can’t keep his emotions hidden from you. doesn’t want to.

he wants to touch you all over but keeps his hands to your waist to make sure you feel comfortable.

when you pull away he’s blushing, muttering “wow…”

he’s left speechless by you.

Zevlor

my man is the most respectful tiefling around.

honoured to be asked to kiss you. I think he takes you somewhere quiet, secluded. doesn’t want people staring.

slowly brings you against his body before pressing his lips to yours.

you feel… protected by his kiss? it’s hard to explain.

you just know he’d protect you.

and the kiss is perfect.

[firewasabeast]

I made a little bucktommy fic based off of this post from yesterday (read here or on ao3)

Husbands

There had been a big fire, taking out the top eight floors of a high rise. There were multiple stations involved, including the 118 and Harbor, ground and air support, to get the fire under control and everyone out safely.

It took more than a few hours, but eventually the fire was out and everyone was getting their gear in order to head back to their respective stations.

As Buck organized the tools in the truck, a small group of friends, two guys and two girls, in their mid-twenties Buck assumed, gathered around him.

It had started with little comments; a guy asked what the axe was used for, a girl batted her eyelashes as she touched his turnouts because she “always wondered what the material felt like”, another girl asked how much water could be stored in the truck.

Buck liked talking. He liked answering questions and telling people what he did. He leaned against the firetruck as they chatted, until about five minutes in one of the guys sighed and got to the point. “We're honestly just wondering if one of us could get your number? Or all of us. Doesn't really matter.”

Buck paused. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy getting hit on. He enjoyed it quite a bit, actually. It was always nice to know when someone found you attractive.

Getting hit on was fun. Getting people's numbers was fun. But, there was something else that was even funner now. He'd been able to do it for exactly three months, to the day. Not that he wasn't flashing his ring beforehand, but something about being married sounded even better than being engaged.

“Sorry, guys,” Buck said, smiling as he lifted his left hand into view, “Im flattered, but I'm married.”

As some disappointed, and some still interested, looks broke out over the group, a familiar voice sounded behind Buck. “Damn, I was just about to shoot my shot.”

A blush rose on Buck's face as Tommy passed by. He was working ground ops today, and Buck knew he was around, but this was the first he'd seen of him. “Yeah, you wish, Kinard,” he called back, causing Tommy to turn back around to him.

He shrugged, smirking. “A guy can dream, can't he?” he asked with a wink, continuing backwards toward his truck.

It was only once Tommy was out of view that Buck realized the group was still there, staring between Buck and the direction Tommy went with confusion on their faces.

“Oh, uh, that- that's my husband.”

His smile grew as he watched the realization hit the group. They didn't stand a chance.

“Forget it,” one girl mumbled as they all started to disperse.

“They're both so hot, what the hell?” one guy whispered, albeit loudly, to his friend.

“And unbelievably corny,” the friend said back, not even trying to be quiet. “Makes me wanna gag.”

Buck rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he pushed himself up from where he was leaning on the firetruck. He began walking in the direction Tommy had gone, needing to see him before his station left.

“Get any numbers, hot stuff?” Tommy's voice made Buck jump. He was situated between two trucks and, from the looks of it, had just finished pouring a bottle of water over his head to clean himself off.

Buck's shoulders relaxed as he walked over to Tommy. “No, I did not,” he said cheekily. “You wanna know why?”

“Hmm?”

“Because my husband interrupted. He didn't say it, but I got the feeling he wants to keep me to himself.”

“The nerve of that guy.” Tommy moved closer to Buck, his hands coming up to grip onto the sides of Buck's turnouts. “Can't say I blame him though.” He spoke quietly, staring between Buck's eyes and lips, “He does have a really hot husband.”

Buck put his hand at the nape of Tommy's neck, closing the space between them as he pulled him in for a kiss. He had no concern for the fact he was getting soot right back on Tommy's clean face. Payback.

“Can you bring your turnouts home?” Buck asked, leaning back just enough to speak.

Tommy laughed, his face scrunching up into that deep smile that made Buck melt. “This really does something for you, doesn't it?”

“Every damn time.”

Another kiss, this one slower and softer. A promise of what's to come when they're both off shift in a few hours. “I'll figure out a way.”

[yanderenightmare]

idk if you write for naoya but i have an idea...maybe darling is like maki but actually weak and naoya bullies and takes advantage of them?

love your work btw!! <3

JJK ! IMAGINE

Zenin Naoya x maid ! darling

TW: yandere, mentions of abuse, bullying

Proposal Gift

Sharp hazel eyes follow you in your innocence, narrowing while he judges – concluding once again, as he’d done before, that there really isn’t a single cursed bone in you – only a humble body of warm squeezable flesh and a heart he bets is all too easy to break.

You’ve always been like that. Quick to smile and quick to cry. A bundle of emotions unfit to be raised in such a ruthless clan.

He’s a few years older than you and remembers well what a weak constitution you’ve always had. Anyone could see it, and everyone knew it from the moment you were born – you were never going to amount to much.

He used to find your weakness quite disgusting – used to push your face into the gravel until snot and tears would wet the dirt in a pitiful puddle – with his foot pressed down between your shoulder blades – sometimes until hearing a pop and shriek loud enough to echo off the walls. With words cutting even deeper – telling you what a curse you were, born so weak and so useless – a stain on the great Zenin name.

But now that you’ve grown up, he bites his tongue – silently watching with a strange type of lusty entitlement forming in his gut…

He’s only been away on a mission for a handful of months – who’d have known he’d come back to see you grown into something so… precious.

You’re the prettiest out of the maids – the cutest one too, and undoubtedly the sweetest as well. Walking about the garden where you have most of your chores – watering plants in the sun and picking herbs for healing. You’re quiet and graceful, taking slow steps in your plank shoes that knock softly on the tiles where you peacefully wade through the maze in a pretty flower-patterned yukata.

You look nothing like the snot-nosed brat he’d left in the dirt. You have a swell of breasts now and a feminine face wiped clean of soot – painted with pretty red on your lips and fresh blue on your eyes.

You’re a lady now.

And while your weakness used to disgust him, he’s now realizing what a blessing it is instead. Smirking the more he glares at you – now sitting on a bench in the shade doing some hand stitching, knowing no ill will – he understands he’s quite lucky you turned out such a fragile little thing.

“Naoya-sama-” You spluttered, eyes widening into big round glass orbs.

Jumping to your feet, you nearly threw your needlework down on the bench before folding your fingers together and bowing – much lower than necessary – with a rush that could only be excused with fear.

You hadn’t known he was back yet and felt the surprise like a vice grip wrapped tight around your throat.

Swallowing thickly, you made your excuse while maintaining your bow, praying he’d show you mercy. “Pardon my lack of awareness- I was absorbed in my chores, you see- please forgive me-”

He folded his hands within his pants and raised his chin with a smirk at your spluttering, licking his teeth in enjoyment at your pretty display of courtesy. Eyeing you for a long moment before speaking, mainly to watch you begin to tremble in the wait – cutely dreading the bite of his punishment.

But punishing you wasn't what he was interested in at the moment.

“You’re not in maid robes.” He said instead, ignoring your previous stuttering. His face, jaded with a tone just as callous, aided by that weighty air of authority he always has surrounding him – the one that never fails to make your skin feel raw in the cold.

“Oh-” You fumbled, halting at his lack of anger – wary of the unexpected behavior as it was pretty odd for him not to jump at the opportunity to punish someone like you if and when the chance presented itself.

Though, it wasn’t yet decided he wouldn’t do just that – the way his steely and strangling presence nearly knocked you over with its vicious intensity alone – staring you down sharply with that otherwise smooth hazel.

In return, you had your doe-eyes yielding and down-cast, eying your fabrics with a bite to your lip – trying to keep your voice from shivering while uttering the next line, heat in your cheeks while at it. “These are- uhm- proposal gifts I’ve been asked to wear.”

He snorted at that, and you flinched at the abrasive sound – eyes shifty while eyeing the ground, lowering your head some more, looking down at the paint on your toenails instead.

“From whom?” He asked a beat later.

Your brows pinched at his curiosity and how awfully unlike him it was. Naoya-sama had never struck you as the type to make trivial conversation, especially with the likes of you. 

“I’m- uhm- not exactly sure…” You confessed, twiddling your fingers. “You see, Father doesn’t want to confuse me- after all… it’ll be his decision in the end, anyway.” 

You kept your head bowed while explaining, feeling awkward before him. Trying to think of a time when he’d paid any type of regard to you or your life – remembering none.

“B- but my marital status must be of no interest to you, Naoya-sama.” You blurted then, finding it to be a rather strange matter to discuss with him of all people.

But all the man responded with was a slight hum, keeping his gaze on you and the way you timidly glanced up at him only to look away when seeing him stare back. 

Ears burning, you chewed and sucked your lip under his glare, thinking of how badly you’d witness him beating other maids – having needed to treat many a cut and gash and bruise and broken bone he’d left on bodies much smaller than himself – not to mention the ones on your own frail self he’d given you in your youth. 

“Please excuse my arrogance-” Your memory prompted you to gush. “Doing anything but welcome you home from your mission is rude of me- I heard you lead our clan into many victories- you must be very proud.”

You decided to try you r luck charming him instead, hoping it could sway him from the urge to hurt you.

“Or maybe it doesn’t come as a surprise anymore. You’ve always been rather strong, after all.” You continued but choked on it only a second later – spurring with yet another apology on your lips. “That was thoughtless of me to say- you should feel proud either way- please forgive me for my stupid words, Naoya-sama- I fear the heat has gone to my head and made a complete airhead out of me…”

But despite the obvious hints of regret and panic in your draining face, the man gave no indication of even having heard what you’d said until offering your ramble another rather unusually relaxed response.

“It’s true.” He agreed – much to your surprise, where you’d braced your face for a backhand and your stomach for a gut punch. “It’s become boring.” 

You dared glance up at him through the lashes of your bow – only to see his face still as expressionless as always – a type of stone-cold that made the hairs at your nape rise.

“Still… you must be tired from the trip, if not the mission” You softly started in spite of it – hoping to end the conversation soon. “You shouldn’t stay out here in the sun for too long…” You tried, praying he couldn’t see straight through your intentions. “And- uhm- I should really hurry along- help prep supper for you and your soldiers with the other maids.” You excused, once again bowing your head, waiting for his nod of dismissal – ever relieved when he gave it.

You swallowed your tremors, feeling lightheaded and dizzy while offering up whatever type of smile you could muster.

“It was good seeing you, Naoya-sama.” You lied. “Welcome home.”

You bowed yet again, dismissing yourself before turning and leaving him.

He kept his eyes fixed on you despite it. Observing the distressed spring in your step and how it disturbed the former peace you walked the gardens with earlier. 

A smile inched up his face watching it.

You look very nice in his proposal gift.

He looks forward to having you in his bed.

tip-jar: Kofi

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

Firefighter!Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings: none, fluff

~ Been thinking about Eddie as a fire fighter after watching 9-1-1

Not proofread

Eddie never had any real desire to get into this type of profession. The thought never even crossed his mind. After he got into some trouble with police. the judge gave him two options to pick from, which were. Spend a few months behind bars or community service.

After a while, he ended up failing in love with it. He very much liked uniform and riding around in that big truck. He loved helping people. He figured out that was his true calling. He's been caught in some very life-threatening situations. For the part most, he's getting calls for various things. Usually, they're just false alarms, or some kid got their head stuck in something.

Eddie's saved cats from trees and families from their burning homes. Every day, he goes home smelling like smoke. Eddie wouldn't trade this life for anything else. Not to mention, most of the town laid off his ass too. That was a big plus. No more harassment or being threatened.

His department got a call like normal early that morning. For a small house fire that got a little out of control. Eddie rushed with the rest of his squad and got his uniform on, hopping in the truck.

By the time they got their the fire was pretty much put out thanks to you. Your neighbor was in her eighties, and her cat had knocked her candle off the table. The fire lit up her shaggy curtains in an instant.

The entire squad rushed into her apartment anyway to inspect everything just to make sure it was safe. Eddie went in but came back out to talk to you.

"You put out the fire?" He walked up, taking his helmet off. His uniform stained in old soot. E. Munson was patched on his jacket at the bottom.

You had just helped the paramedics take away your neighbor. She had asked you to watch over her cat for the night. Which you happily agreed to.

You turn around. "Oh, uhh yeah, I did-."

"That could have gotten real ugly next time. Just leave and let us handle it." He walked a little closer. His tone wasn't rude, but it wasn't too friendly at first either.

You nodded, knowing he was right after all. That fire could have gotten really bad very fast. "Hopefully, there won't be a next time."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck."So you live here long?" Eddie's tone changed to more a friendly one.

His eyes squinted a little as the sun beamed down on him.

You smile and begin to walk away, "Two years."

"Two years? Wow, we get calls here all the time, and this is my first time seeing you." He recalled raising his eyebrows.

Eddie has been called to this apartment building more than he can recall. He knows the people and the building like the back of his hand. One time, it was for a kid who stuck marbles up his nose. The others were for little none dangerous things. But he definitely should have remembered a face like yours by now.

You slowly side by side, "good or bad?"

He stopped walking, and a smirk played on his lips, "I guess in this type of circumstance good."

"So I should start calling for any tiny minor inconvenience?" You turned to face him.

He was about to say something else but was cut off when another fireman yelled for him. "Eddie! It's all clear!"

You watched him throw a thumbs up and look back at you. The sun, his eyes, made his brown eyes almost glow. His hair was tied in a low bun, and he had slight stumble. You noticed a tattoo on his neck peaking out from the collar of his jacket.

He chuckled and went back to your conversation, "If I got to see that pretty face, I think I can let it slide."

Your felt your face get hot, and you cleared your throat. "I bet you would."

Eddie looked down at his hands, taking his gloves off, revealing a few fades scars more tattoos. His voice got a little low, "are you by chance single?"

"I am." You eyed him curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"Jus' wanted to go on one little date." He shrugged.

"Only one?" You questioned. You didn't want to sound offended, but why one date?

"Oh yeah, only need one to convince you in seeing me again." He kept his tone playful and light-hearted.

Eddie can tell he probably insulted you. He definitely didn't want to do that. He was just trying to be flirty.

"You think you can win me over with one little date?" You crossed your arms over your chest.

He stepped closer to you. "Oh, absolutely." His demeanor full of confidence. he was so sure he could woo you into as many dates as you wanted.

"Fine, we'll see if you're right then, Eddie." You bit your cheek trying not to laugh. You took what he said as a challenge. You also won't deny you did like him. You only met him an hour ago. For such short interaction, you felt drawn to him. He this twinkle in his eye that made you want to get to know him.

You and Eddie exchange numbers before you watched him hop back into that big firetruck parked out. He sat in the front seat with an arm hanging out the window. You couldn't look away. You saw him tip his helmet toward you as they pulled off and back to the station.

You hope your first date goes well because you're already planning the second one.

[sanjoongie]

Wet for a Villain

ღPairing: Song Mingi x Reader (f) ღGenre/ Au/ Trope: smut, villain au, enemies with benefits ღWord Count: 730 ღRating: +18 MDNI ღSummary: you're a detective in a city where a villain creates havoc for heroes and police alike... but you're fucking him?! ღWarnings: penetrative sex without a barrier, big dick! mingi, breeding kink, corruption kink (?), creampie, overstimulation, dat dick so good you'd ignore your responsibilities to get it from mingi ღDedication: @downtoamagicalland, @mingsolo & @starlitmark my mingi stans that deserve to be fed more! Here’s some instant inspo, I hope you enjoy! @mejuii lowkey for you because you helped urge it on, and i know you like a confident mingi ENJOY @smallfrye honorary suffer with me braincell tag

The world is on fire outside and you bury further into your blankets. The sirens’ wail and you flinch as an explosion lights up the night sky. You knew exactly what that means; Mingi is out causing havoc and soon he’ll show up on your balcony.

You were a detective for the local police force but tonight was your night off. Mingi always made a strike when you weren’t on shift. You hated the mayhem he created, and the people he hurt. You hated that he made you cast aside every moral bone in your body out the window. But you simply could not tell him no when he came to you, covered in blood and soot and ready to fuck. 

The hard rattle of your balcony door brings you back to reality. You look out to your balcony and there’s Mingi. When your eyes meet, he pushes through the glass. There is nothing that stops him from getting where he wants to be, and by the flash of lust in his eyes, he wants to be in between your legs right now.

“Did you see the explosion?” Mingi mentions while he slowly pulls down the covers that you had dug yourself into. You nod as Mingi’s fingers find the waistband of your underwear and nimbly pull them down your legs. 

“The heroes went to go save the ‘innocent’ people caught up in the explosion while I got away. They’re so predictable.” Mingi pokes his tongue into his cheek, staring at your pussy, completely visible for him now that your legs are spread.

“They’ll never find me here, will they, angel?” Mingi smirks.

You shake your head, shame covering every inch of your skin. Mingi simply takes the goosebumps as a compliment. It always seems like the more chaos Mingi creates, the harder his cock is when he comes to you. 

The villain barely pulls his pants down enough to release his very well-endowed cock, gripping it tightly and running it through your folds. You had been wet the moment the explosion went off. Mingi hums, content that you are ready for him.

“So perfect, just for me, aren’t you, angel?” Mingi murmurs under his breath. 

He pushes into your waiting hole and you groan as he pushes until he is all the way in, no stops, no check ins, it is all about him now; his chance to fuck and brag about how he got away once again.

At first, Mingi is more than happy to watch his dick move in and out of your wet pussy, smirking at how well you take him, despite your conflict of interest. He pokes and prods at your pride, speaking on how you should be the one handcuffing him and manhandling him. But he’s the one who’s got your wrists pinned above your head, fucking you so good, you push your legs even wider to receive the pleasure he’s giving you.

The second round involves Mingi bending you in two, attaining an even deeper angle that he loves to torture you with. He speaks on how he’s inside of you so deep, that he’s going to give you little villain babies, to add to your shame. He fucks your cunt so well that your cunt is still experiencing aftershocks and pushes his cum out from the first and second round.

The final round, the one you always despise, involves spooning your body. By now Mingi is done crowing about his accomplishments tonight, done speaking on how stupid the police and the heroes are. Now, he whispers into your ear, while he plays with your nipple, about his next plan of attack. He loves the thrill of telling you everything, hoping that one day you will have the courage to take him down.

You don’t--you’re not sure you ever will. Because then that means these sessions will end. Then your shameful past will come to light. You might even lose your job. You continue to put your needs and wants before the good of the world.

So when Mingi finishes the third time inside of you, lazily rubbing your clit to overstimulate you even more, he always whispers one final jab as you fade to sleep.

“You’re just as bad as me,” He says, the smirk in his voice apparent, also with a dash of admiration, “Perhaps that’s why you’re perfect for me.”

Taglist: @hijirikaww @flurrys-creativity @stardragongalaxy @k-pop-ology

[shubblelive]

— FRONT ROW

summary : for the first time, you see just how many fans wilbur has in person, and for the first time, you begin to feel like you might not be able to handle it.

genre : angst -> fluff, happy ending

warnings : one or two swearwords, reader gets overwhelmed, they almost break up (but not really i promise)

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader

pronouns : she/her, reader is called wilbur's girlfriend

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, cc!ranboo (mentioned), cc!philza (mentioned), kristen

requested : @gracietaylorsversions Hiii! Ilysm could you maybe write a fic inspired by the song “dark red” by steve lacey, more specifically the part: “only you my girl, only you babe” where the reader gets insecure and jealous but wilbur makes sure to reassure her <333

word count : 1.5K

note : hello angel! now, i personallly hate writing jealousy fics i feel like i can NOT do it well, so i opted to delve more into insecurity than jealousy with this one. i'm so glad you're liking my stuff thank you so much it means the worlds

the room was massive. it was like a warehouse, but with seperate rooms off the main one, and way more people. you were in one of the separate rooms, carpeted and less crowded, a yellow card around your neck with your name written on it suspended by a lanyard. 

you weren’t a creator. you didn’t stream or make youtube videos or anything, you hardly even posted on instagram. the only reason you were attending vidcon was because of the man whose arm was wrapped around your shoulder as he chatted avidly to ranboo. 

they had a panel later, the first one since the pandemic had started. it had been somewhat of a surprise to you, when wilbur started getting so big as quickly, but you’d always know it was bound to happen. now, three years into your relationship, you were about to see your boyfriend in front of his first live audience.

one of the vidcon crew members arrived in the room as signalled everyone’s attention, everyone in your group falling silent. they’d all be leaving to go on stage soon. you wouldn’t be alone though, phil’s wife would be there in the audience with you. 

while wilbur got instructions from the crew member, another producer lead you, kristen, and a few other guests of creators into your seats, and you waited anxiously for your boyfriend to come out. 

the two of you had together since 2019. you had helped him move into his streaming office (and subsequently out of his streaming office after getting evicted), and had been there every single step of the way through his streaming career. his fans knew of you. they knew your name and what you looked like, and that you and wilbur had been dating for years, but not much more than that. 

you were as supportive of a partner as you physically could be, helping him out as much as you were able to. for his first ever vidcon, you’d been lucky enough to be able to take time off work to go to LA with him, and he’d let you know over and over how grateful he was for it. you’d held his hand across the atlantic ocean and let him go just in time for him to meet his adoring public. 

and adoring they were. it had been your first time ever truly seeing your partner’s fans in person aside from the odd chance meeting. this was extremely overwhelming. he stepped out of the wings and made eye contact with you immediately, waving at you subtly as he greeted the rest of the crowd. the featured creator hour went for, predictably, about an hour, and as your boyfriend and his friends left the stage, the audience was left to disperse on their own. you guys had saved seats for this one in advance, so you’d had a producer escort you into them, but this time it was just you and kristen in a sea of hundreds of teenagers.

“excuse me,” a small voice piped up, and you whirled around to see a young girl, no older than fourteen standing nervously behind you. she introduced herself nervously, and told you that she thought you had always seemed lovely, and asked for a photo. kristen took it for her, and she left with a beaming smile on her face as you felt your heart thrash against your ribcage. 

there were so many people here, and you were already incredibly overwhelmed by the noise, but now the knowledge that people were perceiving you, even if it was only one fourteen year old girl was just too much to handle. “hey!” you called out to kristen as you both reached the door, having to nearly yell over the noise. “bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

“do you want me to come with you?” her husband would be back in the creator lounge by now, you knew, so you shook your head. 

“no, i’ll be alright, you get back to phil. will you tell wilbur where i am though, please?” she nodded at you, and you took off towards the nearest bathroom. it was absolutely packed, so you skipped it and went straight outside to the carpark. it was hot, and you took a swig of your water bottle as you sat down on the concrete, back against the wall of the building. there were still somehow dozens of fans out here, but you didn’t care.

you needed to get better with this stuff. this was wilbur’s job, and you were his partner. if you were going to spend the rest of your life with him, then you’d need to be able to go to things like this and support him. 

he had so many people’s eyes on him, and you knew that all he wanted was yours. you couldn’t be there for him in the way you needed to. he deserved better. 

the internet was a cruel place. of course you’d seen hate of yourself. you’d seen wilbur shipped with any female friend he came into contact with, and you had always been okay about it. but maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if he dated someone from the industry. he was bound to find someone eventually, someone who loved him just as hard as you did and was able to be there to support him. 

you weren’t cut out for this. you needed wilbur.

he was beside you. “are you alright? what’s going on?” he was scanning the small scattering of fans around the carpark areas, hoping to find somewhere to get you away from prying eyes. “darling?”

“i’m okay,” your voice shook, and he helped you to your feet. “you should go back inside.”

“i am not going anywhere without you,” he said resolutely, hand securely wrapped around yours. 

“i’m such a shit girlfriend,” you tried to laugh, but their were anxious tears forming in your eyes. it was so bright that you had to squint to look at wilbur, who was shielding you from the LA sun. “i’m sorry.”

“what are you talking about?” he asked softly. “you’re not shit, darling. furthest from it, in fact. you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had.”

“i’d hope so considering we’re still dating,” you said quietly. “maybe we shouldn’t be, though.”

wilbur thought he couldn’t feel more anxious after the creator hour. existing in front of such a massive croud of people was something that had never felt real to him, but then he’d looked out into the audience and had seen you, and he knew that after he left he’d be able to pull you into his arms and kiss you, and that you would fix the pounding of his heart. and then he’d stepped back inside the lounge and been met with just kristen, he waited, ten, fifteen minutes, believing you when you’d said you’d gone to the bathroom, before he used the find my friends app on his phone to see where you were. but that sentence made earlier feel like the most calm he had ever felt. “you want to break up?”

his voice quivered, low and deep, and you shook your head frantically. “of course i don’t want to. i was just thinking that…”

“that we should.” he finished flatly. “why?”

his hands were still around yours, but this felt more for his sake than yours now. “i can’t do this, wilbur.” you breathed out. “i can’t do the crowds and the screaming and the hoards of people who know that i exist, i can’t do it.”

wilbur’s face crumpled with relief. “you don’t have to, darling. i promise. from now on, no more events or conventions or panels that you don’t want to go to. please, i love you so much, i’m not gonna lose you over this.”

“but you deserve to have someone there who can do these things!” you argued. “someone who gets it, who understands!”

“i don’t want someone who gets it.” wilbur shot back immediately, silencing you. “i want you. i love you so much, darling. i don’t care if you don’t like the crowds, or if you don’t feel comfortable with me talking about you on stream or posting photos on instagram. none of that means anything to me. the only important thing is you and only you.”

you were almost crying as you kissed him, having to close your eyes instinctively against the sun as his lips pushed against yours, his hands caressing your back comfortingly. “i’m sorry, wil.” you said softly, lips still on his. “i’m being silly.”

“just a little,” he admitted between kisses. “but so am i. i’m just glad you’re here. i love you, silly.”

“i’d say it back but i don’t feel like it anymore.”

he barked out a laugh. “fine! i’m sorry. i love you, darling. my serious girl.”

“that’s somehow worse.” he kissed you to make it up to you, though, so you allowed him to drag you back inside, this time he got a security guard to sneak you in through a back corridor where you were still met with a room full of people who knew your name. except this one had a reserved seat right next to wilbur as you got to watch him live out his dreams, right there in the front row. 

[nonclassyparty]

tins without labels - prologue (j.wy)

summary: Jung Wooyoung's life was always somehow intertwined with your own. from living in the same neighbourhood as kids to attending the same college; fights, bickering, bruises, teasing comments and tears. Wooyoung and you were never complete strangers but never friends either. Always somewhere in between, growing up with each other but never actually knowing one another. The relationship takes a confusing turn in your third year of college after an injury that places your football career on hold. Lonely, lost and confused, you find yourself at your first college party in the presence of none other than Jung Wooyoung asking him to show you what exactly have you been missing out on. playlist // my main masterlist // moodboard (tba) // click to donate to Palestine

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader warnings: none for this chapter i think! word count: 9.3k taglist: just reply or inbox me if u'd like to be added c: a/n: pls don't say damn when u see that i started another story. listen LISTEEEEEN. i know what u all will say..."bree should u rly be starting another series when u havent finished or started the 4757 bajillion ones that u already posted?" the answer is YES. let me explain myself briefly, this summer has been rly hard for me bc i lost someone who was incredibly important to me and i just can't write...i just can't! everything looks like shit!!! im halfway done with soot and something just isn't letting me continue. i can't write pretty on the outside or literally anything else i've started bc its all simply too sad. writing is draining to begin with despite how much i love and enjoy it but writing angst is k wording my mental health lol! so....i present to you this series, mostly dedicated to myself literally no one asked for this, i just feel like its something i need to write and always wanted to so here i go! it will be a little heartwarming series with lots of humor and coming of age shenanigans and huge chunks of it written from personal experience and i hope u guys read it and like it. i had a lot of fun writing this prologue. (p.s. i literally know jackshit about football/soccer so if by some chance someone that reads this knows their football shit....just let it go pls lmfaoo)

(prologue; when we were kids)

and I couldn't find the words, i couldn't think of what to say and all that I can do is stop and think about the days when all we used to dream about was meeting after school

6 and 8 years old;

Your mom helped you build the snowman.

An entire morning of running around your front yard, laughing and playing in the freshly fallen snow, seeing the air you breathe out in front of you that you pretended was cigarette smoke to make your mom laugh as the cold nipped at your cheeks.

The snowman was almost twice your size (which wasn't a lot, you were a fairly small child) with pebbles stuck in as his eyes and teeth pulled up in a big grin. Your mom found a small bucket in the old shed behind the house which she placed on his head as a makeshift hat and because you didn't have any carrots, there was a small twig stuck at the center of the snowman's face to serve as a long crooked nose.

(The snowman didn't have any arms, a detail that went over your head at the time.)

After admiring the big statue in the farther corner of your front yard for awhile, you finally retreated into the house with your socks wet along with the majority of your hot pink snowsuit. As you kicked off the damp clothes and exchanged them for warm, dry ones and fuzzy socks and then settled in front of the TV in the toasty living room with a mug of cocoa - you couldn't help but feel that it was a happy day.

Which is why when, in the late afternoon, once you looked out of your window to see what once used to be your snowman is now nothing but a big pile of disheveled snow with his plastic hat rolling around the sidewalk and two boys running away down the street with shrill laughter echoing after them, you simply couldn't help but burst into tears.

"Mommy!" You screamed out, running outside your front door in fuzzy socks and your sweater, as dramatic as you were. But you were six and your life still ended and began with coloring books and favorite toys, so a snowman that you made with your mom getting destroyed, surely felt like the end of the world.

Once your mom stepped out after you, about to scold you for walking outside into the cold air with no jacket on, you burst into crocodile tears as you pointed to the spot where your snowman once stood.

"Oh, no." She breathed out with a sigh before grabbing her jacket and slipping into whatever shoes were available by the door (they were your dad's old tennis shoes) and walking across the front yard to collect the small bucket from the sidewalk.

All you could do was stand and watch as you wailed so loudly after your snowman that the entire neighbourhood could hear.

"Honey, it's okay." Your mom tried to soothe you as she walked up the steps to your house, carrying what used to be the snowman's hat. "It's just a snowman, we'll make another one tomorrow!"

But you were inconsolable, bursting out in another wave of loud cries as you stomped your tiny foot and pointed to the house across the street.

"They ruined it! W-Wooyoung ruined it!" You sob, waving towards the boy's house with all the anger a six year old could possibly muster. You knew it was him, recognizing the ugly red jacket he wore this entire winter and his even uglier looking friend, Chanwook.

You weren't friends with Wooyoung. He was older than you and all of his friends were mean. You once tried to play with them when you first moved to the neighbourhood but they didn't want to play with a girl. You cried about that too.

They often teased you. Wooyoung said your crooked teeth made you look ugly!

She sighs again, "And that was very mean of him. But, Y/N, we'll just make another snowman tomorrow."

"But-" You start again, tears still sliding down your face. 

"We'll build him in the backyard where we have a fence, so no-one will be able to touch him." She offers with a smile, hoping you'll finally be consoled enough to walk inside and be safe from the harsh cold.

"But I won't be able to look at him from the window." You tell her quietly, voice going hoarse from the crying and bottom lip already wobbling as another wave of tears began to sunk in. She gives you a sympathetic smile.

"We'll get him a prettier hat and we'll use two long branches to give him arms!" Your mom offers again, trying to butter you up so the tears would stop. "We'll get a carrot for his nose and big pretty rocks for his eyes!" Once she realized it was working, she continued; "And we'll take a picture of you with him so you'll always get to look at him, even when he melts away!"

You peer up at her with a hiccup, finally bribed enough; "A picture?"

She nods, holding the door wider for you to finally walk inside as you inch towards the door, fuzzy socks now soaked, "A picture. We'll send your dad to the mall to develop them."

So, you finally walk inside the warm house again, changing your socks and immediately going to your father's home office to pester him about the camera and just how long will it take for a picture to be developed.

-

"-Y/N, we'll just make another snowman tomorrow!" 

Wooyoung heard your mom tell you as he peers at the exchange from across the street, through his bedroom window, freshly changed into dry clothes after a long hard day of playing outside with Chanwook and now, warming his frozen hands on the radiator.

When Wooyoung saw the snowman parked in the corner of your front yard, just a step away from the sidewalk, he and Chanwook thought it would be funny to ruin it. 

The thing was ugly and had an even uglier bucket at the top of it's head, perfect to kick around the street!

He didn't think too much about it, if he was honest. Just saw a big lump of snow he wanted to kick at until it collapsed, so that's what Wooyoung did. It was just a silly snowman.

Besides, you were already six years old. Far too old to be making a stupid snowman. You should've been going sledding with the rest of the neighborhood kids on the small hill just a couple of minutes away from your street. Wooyoung was mature now, so his mom allowed him to go without a chaperone this year. You were always so childish, no wonder your mom didn't let you go with them. You cried over everything.

But he didn't expect you to cry over the stupid snowman!

It was just a snowman. It would've melted anyway when the weather got warmer! Or gotten ruined by someone else! 

The brief fear of your mom telling Wooyoung's mom about what he'd done struck him. He'd positively get grounded for ruining your dumb snowman if she found out and then the rest of his winter break would be spent inside of the house.

You could always make another snowman. A better one. And since you're such a crybaby, Wooyoung would make sure to tell Chanwook that they won't be touching that one. Leave that ugly snowman alone.

Just so you wouldn't cry anymore.

-

10 and 12 years old;

"It's a shame your mother is dead, maybe if she was still around she would teach you how to act like a girl!" 

Your face flushed in anger as you stared the other boy, Beomseok, his chubby fingers still wrapped around your pencil case which was how the argument started in the first place.

He was in the same class as you and a typical bully. Bigger than the rest of his peers and always using it to his advantage to intimidate and tease them. Today, he took your pencil case and when you asked for him to give it back, he only gave you a gnarly smile and started running around the classroom and eventually out on the halls, screaming taunts at you. It would be a lie to say that you didn't scream some pretty mean stuff back but in your defense, he deserved it.

Now, you both stood as if you're ready to duel as the rest of your classmates and even some upperclassmen gathered to see what the commotion is all about, your fury rising so high that tears spring in your eyes at the mention of your mom as you observe his smug smirk. Obviously, from a very young age, you were bad at managing your anger.

"I hate you!" You scream out, voice high pitched. Then you jump on Beomseok with your full weight, successfully pulling him to the hard hallway floors as your hands curled into tiny fists that started colliding with his face.

And Beomseok, for all his intimidating build, talked an awfully big game just to end up bursting into tears as your fist collided with his nose. He was bad at fighting, you notice, if he could be beat up by a lanky girl almost two times smaller than him.

"I just-" Punch. "-wanted-" Punch. "-my pencil case-" A slap. "-back!"

"Somebody help!" He screams from under you, whining under each attack but his classmates were too busy cheering you on to come to his defense.

Once you start harshly pulling on his hair, two arms wrap themselves under your armpits and pull you off of your classmate. You're standing again and are turned by your shoulders to come face to face with your teacher, screaming at you.

"Is this a proper behavior in school?!" and lots of "Your father will hear about this!"'s and "You're going to the principle's office!" as she started pulling you by your arm down the corridor that was still filled with students.

"Everyone to your classrooms! Now!" Your teacher screams from the top of her lungs as she tugs on you and you follow after her with a frown on your face.

Stupid Beomseok.

-

Wooyoung's stomach hurts from laughing, clapping Chanwook's shoulder who was almost sitting on the floor due to his own fit of pure glee, as he watches Kim Beomseok roll around the floor in pain, clutching his nose. 

There's scratches and bruises already forming on his cheeks, little bit of blood mixed with a lot of big, fat tears. It's hard to feel even slightly bad for Beomseok, when Wooyoung heard how he torments his classmates along with the younger kids during recess. Did it count as bullying if the bully is the one getting bullied?

Maybe he finally got what was coming for him, nobody usually stood up to him and Wooyoung least expected you to be the one to put him in his place.

He deserved it, Wooyoung thinks, after what he said about your mom.

Wooyoung remembers her funeral three years ago, he remembers how much you cried and how you didn't leave your house for a month that summer. He even rung the doorbell to ask if you wanted to come out and play one time which he never did because you were a child and he was much more mature than you, you two had nothing in common. But he felt sad for you.

Your mom was nice, she always brought Wooyoung a chocolate when she'd come for a visit.

 Sadly, they discovered she had cancer when you were only seven and Wooyoung was nine. By the time they discovered it, it was already too far along and your mom passed away on a summer evening while you were outside playing hide and seek. 

Wooyoung remembers feeling so bad how they always made you the seeker that day because you were the youngest kid in the neighbourhood and far too easy to convince that it was simply always your turn to look for the other kids.

Your dad opened the door, smiling sadly at Wooyoung and saying that you weren't feeling well enough to come out and play. Wooyoung didn't try again after that.

The teacher is pulling you by your elbow through the crowd, yelling at the top of her lungs for everyone to head to their classrooms since class should start in a couple of minutes. You silently follow her, face twisted into an angry grimace.

Your hair has fallen out of your ponytail, long strands sticking to your face and Wooyoung is pretty sure that your shirt got ripped during the brawl. 

Wooyoung might've been laughing a bit too loudly because with angry eyes and cheeks flushed, your head whips towards him just as you pass by him.

Wooyoung opens his mouth with a smile, to say something like "Good job, Y/L!" maybe. He doesn't get the chance to.

"What are you laughing at, Jung?" You ask loudly and Wooyoung's laughter immediately dies down.

"Wha-?"

And it's then, that your foot meets Wooyoung's shin in a harsh kick that makes him yowl in pain and makes Chanwook burst into another wave of laughter as his hands grab at Wooyoung who doubles over in pain.

"Y/N!" The teacher screams out again, pulling you back by your shirt and going on another rant, filled with threats of calling your dad to school and something else he can't process at the moment.

Wooyoung is too busy feeling the pain and anger that fills him up as he rubs at the place your sneaker covered foot meet his leg.

"Y/N, you psycho!" He yells after you who is still getting dragged away. You don't even bother to look back at him.

(He still collects your pencil case from the floor and throws it on a desk that a classmate of yours says belongs to you before exiting the classroom and going to his own. Wooyoung tells himself it's for no other reason but just so your dad won't have to buy you a new one. He has enough on his plate already.)

-

14 and 16 years old;

Wooyoung has a girlfriend.

You don't know why that's something that bothers you so much.

Maybe because you don't understand what a girl could possibly see in Jung Wooyoung to willingly let him hold her hand or...God forbid, kiss her. Ew.

That's a lie, maybe even a bad attempt at coping on your part because there's a general consensus in your high school that Jung Wooyoung is good-looking. 

You didn't even think he was ugly when you were younger, when he was pulling on your pigtails and teasing you for playing with dolls. He was cute for an annoying kid back then too with his chubby cheeks and bowl haircut.

He was especially cute now, a recent discovery of yours which you have no one else to thank except puberty. It did wonders on your hormones and it did wonders on Jung Wooyoung too. 

His jawline got sharper the more baby fat he lost and lips grew fuller. His boyish smile was very attractive, even his smile lines were captivating. Wooyoung grew taller as well, not by much compared to the other boys in his grade but he was tall just enough so you'd have to look up to him when you argue but not enough to be intimidated by him.

So, yes, you supposed you'd understand the appeal if it weren't for his stupid mouth and mean words more often than not, directed at you. You threw shots back as well, sometimes even started an argument first if you were feeling particularly annoying but maybe that sums up why you're so bothered.

He started dating Chaeyoung at the beginning of this summer and since you have the fortune (read: misfortune) of living in the house right across the street from Wooyoung's, you were an unlucky witness to most of their dates.

And he was so sweet to her. He'd buy her cheap flowers and ice cream, they'd walk around the neighbourhood holding hands, they'd take Wooyoung's younger brother Kyungmin to the playground in the evenings. Wooyoung would smile a lot at her and Chaeyoung would always smile back.

You even saw them kiss. Just once.

When you were folding laundry in your bedroom, you looked through the window just in time to see their lips connect on Wooyoung's front porch. You quickly looked away, feeling shy and embarrassed, not understanding why you were blushing or feeling so sad all of a sudden.

Why was he so nice to other girls but never to you? You shouldn't think too much about it, the problem isn't you. Chaeyoung wasn't just some other girl but his girlfriend. Of course, he'd treat her special.

Whatever. You scoff as you watch Chaeyoung run to Wooyoung across the quad as you adjust your sports bag over your shoulder. 

She jumps into his arms and you can hear his loud, annoying laughter even to here as his arms wrap around her and he picks her up from the ground.

"What are you doing?" You almost jump out of your skin at the sound of Ryujin's voice as she nosily tries to follow where you were staring at.

Ryujin was the first friend you met since you started high school two weeks ago. She might be the only friend you have for awhile since you haven't really been trying to even get to know your classmates as you were too busy trying out for the girls football team.

You don't remember when you started actively playing football exactly. You always played it for fun with the boys from the neighbourhood (Wooyoung included)  but maybe it was around seventh grade when your dad pestered you into trying out a sport because he didn't know what else to do with you so he packed you up and sent you to a sports camp for two weeks one summer, that you started actually playing.

You went there only caring about your iPad and came back saying you'll be a professional football player.

Your dad doesn't want to say it but you know he thinks it's a fickle dream that will fizzle out with age.

Thankfully, Ryujin shared the same love for the sport as you so for now, you were relieved and content to spend time with her. She was nice.

You didn't need anyone else but maybe it would've been nice if someone who was older, who you were familiar with even if you always fought, would give you a couple of words of useful advice. Regarding the new teachers and subjects and all.

High school was scary.

"Nothing." You answer quickly, turning your back to Wooyoung and his girlfriend and fully facing your new friend.

"Nothing?" Ryujin gives you a suspicious smile, eyes darting over your shoulder once more before she ruffles your hair. You yelp. "Do you have a crush already, Y/N?"

You gently shove her away with a huff, fixing your bangs, "Don't be stupid. These boys are all ugly."

A crush. As if!

She laughs at that, throwing her arm around your shoulder as she directs you both to the field where practice was held, already yapping about her own crush.

-

"Hey, isn't that your neighbour?" Chaeyoung nudges Wooyoung with her elbow, nodding somewhere behind Wooyoung. He cranes his neck to follow the direction before his eyes land on you.

He snorts, "Yeah."

You were standing in the middle of the football field, sweaty and red in the face from all the running, with your hands on your hips as you paid attention to what your coach was yelling towards your teammates across the field.

The school's jersey seemed far too big on your lanky form and your hair was a mess, always slipping out of your ponytail. You were much smaller in build than the rest of the team and it looked funny to Wooyoung.

He didn't expect you to be into sports, let alone a sport like football. In fact, Wooyoung is surprised that you don't burst into tears when you start arguing with the makeshift referee played by another student. It's what usually happens if you spend longer than a minute arguing with Wooyoung.

And then he ends up being the bad guy for making you cry but no one ever mentions that you sometimes provoke him first as well but can't take it when it's dished right back.

Since you're such a crybaby.

He watches with an amused grin as you bare your teeth at the referee, who is really just a senior that thought it would be a fun time but now he has to stand arguing with you. And to Wooyoung's further amusement, the older boy who is almost two heads taller than you, looks like he's about to shit his pants in front of you.

Hm. Maybe not such a crybaby when it's anyone else but Wooyoung.

"I think she has a crush on you."

He turns to look at his girlfriend with a confused look, growing further confused when she smiles teasingly at him.

"Who?" He asks and she gives him a knowing look before nodding in your direction again. Wooyoung splutters out a surprised laugh, "Y/N?"

"Yeah." She nods excitedly, giggling, "She's cute."

Wooyoung scoffs with an eyeroll, "She's a kid."

A kid who might have a small crush on Wooyoung but still, a kid nonetheless.

He'd be stupid to say he didn't notice that you sometimes stare at him a little too much but what the hell is he supposed to do about that. You just started high school, you probably weren't even aware of what you were doing. It was a childish crush because at the end of the day that's what you are - childish.

Chaeyoung giggles again, the sound is soft and sweet, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

"It's kind of sweet." She sighs dreamily and Wooyoung snorts because nothing about you was sweet, "You're her handsome neighbour, the only guy who's always been close to her since she was a kid, she probably starts those childish arguments with you so you'd give her attention and then writes about you in her diary and-"

"Y/N is the last person to have a diary, first of all." Wooyoung interrupts with a snicker before looking down on his girlfriend who is teasing him, "Second of all, you sound ridiculous."

Chaeyoung lifts her head up from where it rested against him and looks at him seriously, her lips pressed together. Then she starts imitating Wooyoung's last sentence in a deeper voice that sounds nothing like him, "You sound ridiculous-ah!"

She squeals when Wooyoung pinches her at the waist lovingly and it turns to tickling her as he presses kisses to her cheeks.

As they continue to exchange kisses between hushed giggles, the conversation about you is forgotten.

-

18 and 20 years old;

From the moment you opened the door to greet your date, you knew that the whole night would be a complete and utter disaster.

Maybe you watched too many teen movies that romanticized prom night so much that even you ended up believing and looking forward to the glorified fantasy of it but boy, were you in for a rude awakening.

Your prom date was a boy from your Calculus class named Eunwoo. 

To be completely honest, you were convinced for the entirety of your senior year that you wouldn't have a date for prom at all because not much has changed since freshman year.

You still had one good friend (two, if you count Ryujin's friend that says she likes hanging out with you) and your focus was always on football. Add schoolwork and keeping up your good grades and you truly didn't have much time left for socializing.

So when Eunwoo pulled you aside after your football practice and asked you if you wanted to go to prom together with a handsome boyish smile on his face, your excitement for that night skyrocketed.

Eunwoo wasn't exactly a friend but he was nice to you during class, maybe you were wrong but his niceness sometimes even bordered flirting. Already, you were daydreaming about a possible boyfriend to spend your last summer with before you start college.

With a date or without one, you spend the bigger portion of your senior year saving up money for prom night or should you say prom preparations.

Makeup was never your strongest suit, in fact, it wasn't a suit of yours at all. You never wore it. You never did your hair either. 

Even on the rare occasion that you went to a high school party, you never wore anything else aside from jeans and T-Shirts. You were an athlete and you committed to the bit entirely, always being ready to sweat and opting for comfort of loose clothes above anything else.

But you wanted to look nice for prom, pretty. Not because of Eunwoo but for yourself. Prom is only once and you wanted to make sure you do it with confidence. 

All your saved up allowance went on the hair and makeup appointment along with your dress that Ryujin helped you pick out. The dress was quite simple in your opinion, a dark red one with a square neckline held up by two thin straps that clung to your curves and flared out at the bottom.

With your hair pinned up in an up-do with two curled strands framing your face and glitter on your eyelids, you thought you looked very pretty, beautiful even. Hell, it was probably the best you looked in your entire eighteen years of life. You could even put up with the painful heels for the sake of it.

Your dad made you pose over the whole house while you waited for your date to pick you up. First a photoshoot on the stairs, then one on the front porch, then a little in front of the living room fireplace. 

He seemed so excited with his camera hanging around his neck as he followed you around the house.

It was one of the moments you wished your mom was here for but nonetheless, it was much fun with your dad only as well. You were happy.

It all went to shit though once you opened the door for Eunwoo and he started laughing in your face.

"Oh my God!" He laughs, almost doubling over at the apparent hilarity of your appearance, "What are you wearing?!"

You laugh nervously, ignoring your father's glance at you from the sheer embarrassment, "What? Is it that bad?"

"No, no." Eunwoo shakes his head, wiping a stray tear that escaped while he was laughing, "It's just not like you, at all."

"Oh." You give him a sour smile, your fragilely built ego shattering completely. "I was just...trying something new I guess..."

He snickers with a headshake before offering you his hand, "Come on, let's go take a photo?"

After a small moment of hesitation, feeling your cheeks burn from the humiliation, you let him grab your hand and step out on the front porch. Eunwoo places a hand around your waist to pull you closer as you both smile at your dad's camera.

A couple of photos later, you both head towards Eunwoo's car as your dad waves you goodbye. You give him a small, almost sad wave back as Eunwoo opens the door for you. You ask him;

"Do I really look funny?"

"No, you look pretty no matter what." He answers, helping you with your dress. "It's just doesn't suit you I guess, it's not like you."

"Ah..." You say staring at the dashboard as you watch him round the car to get into the driver's seat. You glance back at your dad just to see him get back into your house and for a split second, you want to call the whole thing off and go back inside with him.

Of course this doesn't suit you. You were the girl guys dapped up in the hallways, the girl that was always covered in hoodies and sweatpants and never wore makeup. You must look stupid, all dolled up like this. What were you thinking.

Prom celebration is usually held at a hotel not far from your high school. The ballroom is enormous, with vast marble floors and high ceilings illuminated by golden, shimmery lights. It looks straight out a fairytale with colorful dresses worn by pretty princess and handsome princes in their extravagant suits. Only, you don't feel like a princess at all.

Eunwoo and you find your table and you briefly say hi to Ryujin and her date. Ryujin tells you how amazing you look and you give her the first (and possibly, only) genuine smile of the night.

"So," Eunwoo starts the conversation a few minutes after you settle down at your table with drinks, "Did you decide where you're going for college? Any scouts?"

"I'm leaning towards SNU. Their Women's Football Club is really strong and I feel like they actually get proper investments and budget." You tell him and he grins interrupting your next sentence.

"See, this is why I like you. It's hard to find a girl who knows about sports and is so chill about everything."

Your mouth stays parted, the rest of your sentence (which was really just saying that the fact the male football team was hot contributed to your decision as joke) went unsaid as his words registered. Every "compliment" Eunwoo gives you is starting to come off so backhandedly that you're beginning to realize that while he thinks he has you all figured out - he doesn't actually know you at all.

You give him a fake laugh and pray to God it doesn't sound fake enough for him to notice as you take a sip of your drink.

An hour later, your heels are killing you so much that you've completely given up on dancing. You observe Ryujin on the dance floor with her date, still going at it and sigh with the silent question of when it would be your turn. Instead, you're stuck to the sidelines with shoes that feel awful on your feet and a date that can't stop talking about how it's attractive that you're a "girl that actually eats". Eunwoo's compliments are becoming weirder by the second.

"Should I just take you home?" Eunwoo asks with an amused smile as he observes you taking off your heels for the tenth time since you sat back down.

"Ah, would you mind?" You give him an apologetic smile, feeling like a burden and a not-so-much-fun date, "I'm sorry, Eunwoo, this is unfair to you-"

"Nah, I had a fun time." He shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink, "Next time, just be yourself though, yeah?"

The weirdly phrased statement makes you pause. "What do you mean?"

"You know, you don't have to dress like this!" He laughs, playfully playing with the thin strap of your dress. You subtly move away from his touch. "It's not like you at all. I don't know if your friends talked you into it just to fit in but you shouldn't let them push you around like this."

He's so wrong that you can't speak for a moment but even if you could, you feel like trying to explain yourself to him would be far too exhausting and would lead to nowhere. Nor do you want it to lead anywhere anymore, if you were honest.

"Girls like that are so exhausting." He gives a tired sigh. "Outfits and makeup aren't the only thing in the world."

"Girls....like that?"

"You know! Like, the touchy-feely shit. Everything is about color-coordination and nail polishes with them. God forbid their hair is out of place. What a headache!" Eunwoo runs a hand through his hear before giving you an award winning smile. "That's why I'm glad I got to hang out with you! You're real."

"I'm....real?" You ask with a cocked head as your eyes start to narrow. He's too busy thinking that you like what he's saying so he continues.

"Yeah. You know, you keep it real. You're not caught up in that frivolous, girly bullshit. You're so chill, Y/N." He keeps smiling at you like he just gave you the highest form of compliment he possibly could.

But you can't bring yourself to crack a smile even if someone held a barrel of a gun to your temple at the moment. In fact, you feel like throwing up. You should've know from the start, from the moment he was so unreasonably impressed with your lack of makeup at the beginning of the year.

Eunwoo was one of those guys.

"Um," You slide your heels back on and grab your clutch, "You know what, you stay. I'll go."

"Wait, what." His brows raise in half confusion and half surprise as he watches you stand up from your seat.

"Yeah, I'll walk home."

"Wait, Y/N. Why would you walk home? I already said I'd drop you off-"

"No thanks. I don't want to get in a car with a sexist."

"What?!" Eunwoo reels back, "What the fuck are you talking about?! I'm not a sexist! I respect women!"

You huff, turning to him with a glare. "You respect women who are "cool" and "chill" and basically act like men. You should've just taken one of your dudes to prom if these are your opinions. I'm out."

So, that's how you find yourself in your pretty dress sitting in one of the plastic chairs of a convenience store with a popsicle in your mouth as you watch the cars drive by. You were too embarrassed to arrive home so early, you hyped up prom night so much to your dad - you'd rather lie and tell him you had a good time.

If the night couldn't possibly get any shittier, while you eat away at your cherry popsicle feeling undeniably sorry for yourself, you hear a familiar laugh followed by sounds of shoes scuffing against the pavement towards the convenience store.

Of course. Of fucking course, Jung Wooyoung would show up now, when you needed him least.

You try to make yourself seem as small as possible in the plastic chair, hoping he or his two friends wouldn't notice you (which in retrospect was a dumb hope, you were sitting right by the entrance in a fucking prom dress).

Ever since Wooyoung graduated high school two years ago, you only saw him in passing. He'd come home for Christmas holidays or a week or two during the summers and you'd only catch him skunk out of his house and into his dad's car if you were lucky. Unlucky, that is of course.

Maybe you were hoping he wouldn't even recognize you and although it would kind of hurt (as embarrassing as that is to admit), you feel like it would be a better option.

But since you were on a roll tonight, obviously this is just another thing that doesn't go your way.

"Nice dress, Y/L/N." You hear Wooyoung's voice speak, followed by snickers from his idiotic friends and his own attempt at stifling his laughter as they walk past you and into the convenience store, the small bell above the door signaling their entrance.

That ends up being your last straw. 

You don't cause another fight or yell something back after him, no, you don't have the energy to do that tonight. Instead, you feel like you will cry.

Tears are already burning at your eyes and your bottom lip wobbles, you're not even aware that your eyes follow Wooyoung through the display of the store, watching him as he picks up a pack of beer and heads for the cashier.

He got even more painfully handsome than he was when you'd see him every day before he graduated. His hair was double toned, the top of it black and the bottom strands bleached, brushing the nape of his neck.

You think you could even see a tattoo peaking under his shirt as he moves.

Jung Wooyoung was so not your type. Not that you really knew what your type was but all the guys that you found cute in your high school years were athletes, jocks who were organized and dedicated to their routine which in your opinion showcased their maturity, got good grades and were respected by their peers. Wooyoung was really the complete opposite of that so it was hard to explain why you so weirdly hung up over his approval.

He's still laughing about something with his friends, it would hurt so badly if it was about you, as his eyes dart through the display and connect with your own.

Wooyoung does a double take before his big smile slowly slips and dare you say, eyes soften as he looks at you and his lips part as if he wants to say something. 

It could all be in your head though and you're feeling even worse now that he caught you staring at him like a total creep, so you throw your popsicle in the trash and get up with a sigh, slipping back into your heels and deciding to just go home.

-

"Hey, Y/L/N! Wait up, I'll give you a ride home!" Wooyoung calls out after you, the plastic bag swinging back and forth in his hand. 

He can hear Chanwook's hushed objection which Wooyoung chooses to ignore, instead focused on walking closer to you. You couldn't make it far since you were basically limping in your heels.

"No thanks." Wooyoung hears your response and rolls his eyes. He hasn't spoken to you in the last two years at all but he can see that nothing has changed much - you were still too stubborn for your own good.

You didn't even bother to turn back and look at him, instead you hitch your dress further up and continue up the street and away from the convenience store.

"Y/N, come on. Quit being a brat and just wait for me to bring the car around."

"I said no!" You yell over your shoulder and let out a small yelp when you stutter a bit on your feet. To Wooyoung, you resembled Bambi right now.

"I'm trying to help you!" He yells back, still following you, "Just let me drive you back-"

"Wooyoung, seriously, fuck off!" You turn to face him with red cheeks and teary eyes (maybe that's why he's insisting so badly to drive you home, you simply look pathetic), "I don't need your fucking help!"

Wooyoung reels back at your tone and harsh words and then a wave of embarrassment washes over him when he hears Chanwook and Eunhyuk laugh behind him, at the fact that he just got told off by his little neighbour.

The embarrassment is followed up by anger that prickles at his skin like needles, he scoffs and if there's one thing Wooyoung will be - it's petty; "Fine! Limp home in your stupid heels then, see if I give a shit!"

You don't give him a response and Wooyoung doesn't bother to look for it either, instead turns around on his feet and heads towards his car (his dad's car). But not before telling a laughing Chanwook to shut the fuck up.

But once he's in the car with the keys in the ignition, he stares at the steering wheel in obvious contemplation before letting out a small groan, "Fuck."

Wooyoung turns to Chanwook, "Sit in the back, please."

His friend looks at him in surprise and confusion. "What?"

"Just sit in the back, will you? Please." Wooyoung repeats, avoiding Chanwook's eyes but feeling his stumped stare.

"Wooyoung, you cannot be serious." His friend laughs in disbelief as if reading his mind, looking around before giving Wooyoung another incredulous look, "She just told you to fuck off!"

Eunhyuk is quiet in the back which is a huge relief for Wooyoung, he really didn't need to defend himself to his other friend too.

"I can't let her go by foot in the dark, you've seen her! She can barely walk!" Wooyoung says defensively to both of his friends as Chanwook moves to the back with a huff.

"And that's your problem...how?" Chanwook, like the annoying pest he is, asks.

"It's not...." Wooyoung trails off, trying to look for an excuse as to why he was going out of his way to give you a ride home. "But...but her dad would kill me if he knew I saw her and didn't drive her back. It's only right."

Chanwook smacks his lips obnoxiously loud, "Sure."

Wooyoung doesn't even need to turn around to know that his friend is giving him a very bold side eye right now.

Eunhyuk snorts but doesn't say anything else. Wooyoung is thankful for that at least.

"She probably won't even want to get in the car." Chanwook comments quietly as they reach you on the sidewalk. He ends up being ignored.

Wooyoung rolls the window of the old car down so he can talk to you, he has to say you're walking at an impressively slow pace. "Y/N, get in the car."

He hears you groan dramatically from the outside, "Jung, you're not my dad. Stop telling me what to do."

Wooyoung ignores Chanwook and Eunhyuk's snickers in the back once again, he grows even more irritated, "I'll call your fucking dad right now and tell him you're walking home alone this late. How about that?"

You turn to him with your glossy lips twisted into a scowl, "You wouldn't."

Always ready to prove a point or in this case, lie straight out of his ass, Wooyoung makes a show of stopping his car next to the sidewalk and fishing his phone from the pocket of his jacket before opening up his contacts and beginning to scroll. He doesn't even have your dad's number.

But Wooyoung is a professional bullshitter so he keeps pressing random buttons with a straight face and presses the phone to his ear before turning to you with his brows raised-

"Okay, fine!" You exclaim with an angry huff and start rounding his car as your cheeks flush a pretty pink color. Wait, pretty-? You open the door and angrily plop into the passenger's seat with a glare directed towards him, "Fucking snitch."

Wooyoung ignores you, locking his phone without another word and beginning to drive away.

There's an awkward silence in the car, only sounds being made are those of the plastic bags filled with beer that keep rustling in Eunhyuk's lap.

"This isn't the way to our street." You say and Wooyoung might be crazy but you almost sound a little nervous at that. He glances at you before it dawns onto him. Of course, you'd be feeling nervous.

It's nighttime and you're in a car with three dudes older than you who you don't know that well. Wooyoung didn't even bother telling you about his plan before he started driving. A curse runs through his head before he clears his throat,

"I'll just drop these two off at a party nearby and then drive you home." He murmurs, chest constricting a little when he sees you cross your hands over your chest, a gesture which makes you seem smaller.

"Wait, wha-" Chanwook, gosh he was really pissing Wooyoung off tonight, starts from the backseat. "Woo, I thought you were going too-"

"I will." Wooyoung interrupts him with a clenched jaw as he pulls up to the house where the party is held, "I'll drop Y/N off and then come back, it won't take more than fifteen minutes. Now get out- Wait, give me that bag right there."

Eunhyuk hands him one of the plastic bags and Wooyoung fishes through it and pulls out two blueberry ice creams out of it before giving the bag back to Eunhyuk. Which he bought for himself, of course. Not because he saw your popsicle melting on the pavement or anything.

Chanwook watches with a dropped jaw before huffing, Wooyoung hears him murmur, "Doing it for her dad, my ass-" 

"I'll be right back!" Wooyoung announces loudly, far too loudly, and Eunhyuk slams the car door shut so Wooyoung can drive away.

When he pulls away, the silence in the car is almost stifling so Wooyoung offers you the ice cream, "Here."

You look at him like a second head just popped out of his shoulder before looking back through the window and ignoring him completely. Wooyoung lets out a small groan. So stubborn.

"Oh my God, just take it." He says, placing the ice cream on your lap as he continues to drive. He bites back a smile when he sees you stare at the ice cream on your lap for a long second before grasping it and opening the wrapper so you can eat it.

Wooyoung really doesn't know what he's doing right now.

He doesn't know why he bought ice creams for you, he doesn't know why he insisted on getting rid of his friends first before dropping you off home, he has no idea why he keeps glancing at you every couple of seconds from the corner of his eye and he especially doesn't have a clue why he takes the longer route home.

When tomorrow comes and he wakes up hangover from the party and probably in someone else's bed, he'll give himself the same excuse he gave the boys. He wanted to make sure you got home safely because it's the right thing to do. There was nothing else to it.

But in this moment, right now, in the stifling silence and the breeze that flows through the opened window's because the air conditioning isn't working - Wooyoung notices things that he feels embarrassed to notice, or maybe he noticed them before but never allowed himself to appreciate them until tonight.

Like, how nice your bare neck and collarbones look now that your hair is pinned up in soft curls. A thin silver necklace graces your neck. Or how the two curled strands at the front frame your face prettily. Your eyelids are painted with something shimmery which Wooyoung doesn't know the name of and your cheekbones are a soft peach color intentionally placed there beforehand. 

Your glossy lips wrap around the ice cream cone and you bite off a huge chunk. 

"Why are you staring at me?" Wooyoung can decipher the question even through the mouthful of ice cream as you give him a slight glare.

Because you're pretty. Is what he wants to say, honest and bare, but he obviously can't because you're you and he's Wooyoung. "Because you have ice cream on your nose."

His hands tighten against the steering wheel when he sees you quickly look to the side and wipe at your nose self-consciously. You blush a scarlet red from the embarrassment. Great, now he feels like an asshole.

Wooyoung clears his throat, "Why did you look so sad? Back there, in front of the store."

He has no idea why he's trying to make conversation with you. You two never do that, never did. The closest thing to a conversation between Wooyoung and you would be the arguments you'd have in the middle of the school hallway when he'd tease you for your braces.

Those came off as well, by the way, he can see the pearly white teeth perfectly aligned now as you speak. No longer crooked. Maybe he'd like to see them pulled up in a smile but that's borderline wishful thinking now. You smiling at Wooyoung? Yeah, right.

"No reason." You tell him quietly, slumping in your seat as you continue to eat your ice cream. You sigh with an eyeroll, "Just...prom sucked."

Likely thing to happen.

The key is to go to prom with your expectations so low that you can only go up from there but Wooyoung had an inkling feeling that having low expectations wasn't in your nature.

Besides, you were a jock. He remembers even when you were a freshman, you were already running with the popular crowd without even being aware of it, with the athletes and the cheerleaders. Prom night is sort of a pinnacle of the high school experience for people like you.

Guess it's a bummer that you look like you had a shit time.

He hums, "At the end of the day, it's just another Friday night. Nothing special. So even if it sucked, you'll get over it."

Maybe he wasn't the best at giving advice or comforting people.

You side eye him and he pretends not to see it before you quietly add, "I don't usually spend a year worth of allowance on just another Friday night."

Wooyoung cracks a smile, teasing you being a second nature even if you barely spoke since he graduated, "What? Did you expect a prince charming to sweep you off your feet so you two can dance the night away or something? I didn't know you were into that corny shit, Y/L/N."

He hears you scoff, cheeks still red as you roll your eyes, seriously annoyed, "Whatever. Forget I said anything."

Wooyoung's gives a forced snicker just to annoy you before his smile drops again and his eyes flutter shut for a moment out of pure frustration at his own stupidity, internally cursing himself. If shooting yourself in the foot was a person - it would have Jung Wooyoung's photo and name posted under it.

Why can't you just be nice to her?

The air in the car turns even more awkward and Wooyoung shifts uncomfortably in his seat while you continue to eat your ice cream in silence as you stare through the window.

He slows down in front of your house just when you're finishing your ice cream.

You crumple the wrapper in your hand, place the second ice cream on the dashboard and grab the small bag laying on your lap before grabbing the door handle.

"I hope," Wooyoung starts and when you turn to look at him, he's overcome with a sudden coughing fit which is really just awkwardness and the need to fix whatever the fuck he broke a little even more tonight, "Uh, hope you took some good pictures tonight at least because..."

He trails off, feeling like it was his first time flirting with a girl. Wait, what the fuck. He was not flirting with you. Not even a little bit. Wooyoung was simply trying to pay you a compliment. Simple as that. It doesn't have to be anything more. You don't even need to be friends to pay someone a compliment, in fact, Wooyoung is positive that regular archnemeses complimented each other at least once.

Unfortunately, compliments aren't the norm between the two of you, so whatever nice thing he says feels wrong.

Your brows raise.

"You know," He trails off, scratching the back of his neck in an attempt to seem cool and collected. He nonchalantly adds but his side glances might give him away, fortunately you're too much of a ditz to notice, "You look good."

You stare at him for a long moment, seriously it's so long that he almost changes his mind and adds an insult just so you two would be back in those familiar waters of bickering and teasing each other but then your eyebrows fall back down and a scowl overtakes your features.

"Yeah, right." You mumble and Wooyoung almost feels insulted for some reason but then you continue, "Thanks for the ride."

And then you're out of the car and already moving across your front lawn before Wooyoung can snap out of it and remember to turn the car back on.

-

19 and 21 years old;

"10 more minutes! Y/L/N stop arguing with that asshole and get back into your position before you're out of the game completely!" 

Your coach is red in the face from all the shouting and you know what's good for you, so you keep your mouth shut as you run to your spot, thoroughly ignoring the glare your team's captain shoots at you from your right.

The 'asshole' that your coach is referring to is the referee who didn't count a player from the rival team almost breaking your leg by bulldozing into you - as a foul.

"-stole Eunha's position from her and can't even play properly." You hear a snicker behind you and don't even have to turn to know who it's directed at.

Despite it being only your first semester, you haven't made the greatest impression on your teammates (nor did you try all that much to change that impression). 

So for the time being, when there was no rival team, you were the collective enemy in the changing rooms and on the practice field. A freshman who kicked their friend from the spot she had since she started college. A freshman who thought she was better than the rest of her team. A freshman who didn't know how to behave at times. A freshman that made them run extra laps because she was bad at remembering all the new rules at times.

And now, a freshman that was playing badly and fucking up things for the rest of them.

"Y/N!" A hiss from your right is heard and your eyes zero in on your captain, Jihyo, who is staring at you. "Focus."

You swallow harshly and give her a quick now before focusing your gaze to the front.

In high school, you weren't used to losing. You were a winner, it's what you prided yourself in. Failure wasn't an option when it came to football.

But turns out in college, when all the other players are as good as you, winning isn't as easy.

In fact it’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Nearing the end of the first half the score sheet is still empty and it annoys all of the players and the fans as well. The weirdest thing is how ball is not even on your team's side of the field most of the time; your defenders did not have a very entertaining start of the game in comparison to defenders from Busan, who already look out of breath from all of the attacks to their side. Not to mention that they keep teaming up on you specifically.

You can’t pinpoint what exactly is wrong and why there was no goal to this point; half of you thinks it’s because you didn’t blend well with the team. 

"Run, run, run!" Yeonjin shouts, when Sinb loses the ball and Busan’s midfielders rush to their side.

The spike of adrenaline energizes you and your eyes zero on the ball, running after it. Mina’s figure passes from your left and both of you corner the midfielder, successfully getting the ball to your side. You have it and quickly pass it to Yeonjin, seeing her signal for the ball. You watch her run off when a body collides with your own and the impact is so strong, you lose your balance, falling down.

‘What?’ You ask yourself in disbelief not understanding how you're sprawled across the grass again, slowly standing up. At first you're shell-shocked but now anger fills you to the brim when you see that it's the same girl who intentionally collided with you the first time, watching you with a smug smirk and then you're just  ready to fight.

 You push back at her and get even angrier when the bitch doesn't fall. 

"Are you going to go tattle to mommy?" She asks with a mocking concern and you can’t hear anything; you even forget that you are in the middle of the game because your anger turns your vision red. 

With a loud groan, you launch towards her and grab her by the shirt, screaming to her face that 'she's a cunt'. There are hands around you, pulling you away, trapping you and not letting you go even when you try to break free.

Jihyo's face is in front of you and you can't register what she's saying but you can see her turn red from how pissed off she is. Maybe it's better if you're not listening to her, if you can't hear anyone actually...but then-

"Hey, number nine! You better not fucking cry!"

At first, you think the loud yell came from somewhere on the field. You thought another player from the Busan team was talking shit. And then,

"Number nine! Crybaby!"

There's some laughter in the audience and it's then that you realize the voice is shouting from the fucking bleachers.

A teammate is already pulling you in the opposite direction but your eyes are glued to crowd sitting on the sidelines, the annoying voice insistently yelling. Crybaby. Crybaby. Crybaby.

The worst part is that the voice sounds so painfully familiar, you just can't put your finger on it. Who.

You're about to let it go. You're about to be the bigger person and not act like a total brute on the field, just let it go Y/N. But then-

"Hey, hey crybaby!" You stop in your tracks, head whipping to the direction the voice was coming from and eyes coasting over the bleachers. "What kind of hill did you roll down from that you don't even know how to push someone back properly?!"

Finally, you spot it. Him. In a red hoodie, making sure to stand out in the sea of blue. It's no wonder the voice sounded so eerily familiar, you've heard it screaming at you for the majority of your childhood and a good chunk of your teen years. 

Because he rolled down the same hill as you with only a street separating you.

When he realizes that you've caught onto him, he gives you that smile. That grin that never led to anything good, pearly white teeth gleaming under the lights of the bleachers as he taunts you.

You blood pressure jumps so, you take a deep breath and....scream;

"Jung Wooyoung!"

[stfrancisprayer]

Last Winter, This Spring

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader —when bucky thinks about the past, you're there.

word count: 4.2k notes: female reader, but no physical descriptions and no use of y/n. friends to lovers + postwar. reader is implied to be an aviation machinist. a smidge of angst at the beginning and then a giant helping of fluff for the rest. ❀ warnings: brief description of stalag

HO HO HO! @bandagesandloveletters, i was your secret summer santa! it was a such pleasure getting to know you through your asks and i loved all of the room for creativity you gave me...and your music recs!!! "moonlight serenade" and "a nightingale sang in berkeley square" were big inspirations for this fic. thank you for trusting me with your gift-- and i hope you have an amazing summer <3

ⓘ This is a work of fiction based off of the AppleTV series Masters of the Air and strictly intended to be understood as factitious. Any named mention of an individual is based solely on their dramatic portrayals, NOT their real life counterparts.

In that cold German night, you’re there.

Inside that cabin, frozen to the touch, with his cheek pressed to his pillow– his bent left arm. 

Above John Egan is the corrugated wood of the top bunk, its pattern his personal constellation. In the middle bunk, there’s barely enough room to raise his head and ask Buck if he’s still awake. The spotlight on the eastern side of the grounds makes a wide revolution, sending a scanning light through the window before plunging the room back into the darkness of winter.

It comes again. In that cold German night, Rita Hayworth's there, too; Grace Kelly right below her. Posted on the wall below them is the lead hitter for a hometown baseball team, on the wall opposite is the other team’s pitcher. But John can turn to face his wall, and you're there.

He didn’t expect you to write, but the way he’d nervously paced around the bunk betrayed the fact that he was hoping you would. So when a letter comes on a gray winter morning, your familiar handwriting penned on the front, John’s numb hands fumble open the letter tellingly eager. He reads it in your voice, once, twice, enough times to memorize. But most importantly, you send him a sprig of the wild cherry tree.

When the light comes again, he can see it on his shelf. Its once-white petals are shriveled and missing now, it’s a different color than when you’d first sent it to him. But it’s still you, the brightness in your eyes and that smile– the smile he’d always loved coaxing out of you. 

John switches arms so he’s lying on his right.

There’s a scratching at the base of his throat now, the sound of your name fighting to release itself. The weight that sits on his waterline is the type that he thinks won’t spill over if he pretends it isn’t there. When he breathes, his chest only expands so far, suffocating in the space between the two bunks. It’s the layers, it has to be. You’d never do that to him.

He takes the twig into his hands just to feel the thin wood between his cold fingertips. 

I'll be back, he thinks. I'll be back.

In the Norfolk spring, the trees blossom at the turn of March like clockwork. Where the English sky has been gray since the beginning of September, the bloom is a welcome sight in Thorpe Abbotts. Their petals are the same color as the overcast: a delicate white. Bucky first notices them by chance from the window of the cockpit, glancing to the right as the landing gear touches down on the runway.

By mid-April, the blooms are dense enough to see from the air. When Bucky's circling above the airfield after another near-death mission, he spots the spattering of trees on the ground below and allows himself an exhale. Repetition has turned the sight of them into his own personal air marshall, congratulating him on surviving and beckoning him down onto the runway. He wipes the soot and blood from his face and tips the nose down until they’re clear from the windshield.

He’s barely pushed himself through the escape hatch, but Bucky's already making a beeline toward the aircraft hangar. His legs are still getting used to the ground; wracked with pins and needles and clumsy with each step, but he wears a smile he can’t seem to wipe off. He knows you’re behind those open metal doors, and he likes to think you’ve been waiting for him to return.

You’re there, so focused on tinkering with the uncapped propeller of a plane that you don’t notice him limp in. He could tell it was you from a mile away, all unruly hair and oil-streaked slacks, standing on a platform and putting the brunt of your weight on your wrench. Bucky calls your name, and it's familiar on his tongue.

You flash him a grin– his favorite kind, the one with teeth and the crinkle in your eyes. Perhaps you weren’t expecting his return, but like this he can’t help but believe it.

“Major Egan!” You wipe your hands on your pants. “How was it?”

Terrible; missions like those never go well. He still returns your grin. “Good. I'm here, right?”

“Right,” you laugh. “And since you’re here, hand me those pliers, will you?”

He notices your toolbox underneath the propeller and retrieves the pliers obediently. As he inches onto his toes, you reach down, tongue darting out past your lips as you grasp the handles. He stifles a laugh, remembering how you’ve sworn up and down it’s not a tic of yours.

“She took flak to the engine,” you call out over the sound of mechanics. “Pierced right through the skin. Lucky she didn’t get it from the underside, otherwise we’d be out a plane.”

“Can’t have that,” Bucky muses half-sarcastically.

Smirking, you use the pliers to point at him accusingly. “You’d like that, Egan.” 

He scoffs. “What, like I'd prefer to be on the ground?”

“Maybe you should.”

You’d be on the ground with him, he considers. Maybe he should.

“Hey, you see those– flower things?” he pivots. 

Your voice is muffled by the machinery. “What things?”

“The trees with the flowers.”

“Oh, the wild cherries,” you realize, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Yeah. Real pretty, right?”

“Stunning,” he stuffs his hands inside his flight jacket. “You can see ‘em all the way up there.”

“Is that right?” When you pull away from the propeller, your expression is impressed. “Seen them from the ground?”

“Not yet.”

“Do it sometime,” you offer, like it’s advice. “They’re better up close.”

You dip back down to fiddle with the mechanics. This might be your way of dismissing him, Bucky realizes, but he can’t seem to leave the hangar. So he stands there, content to share a space with you, the noise of engines, and the heartbeat he catches resounding between his ears. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way he lingers. You’re too proud to tell him you enjoy the company.

The upcoming mission gets canceled later that week– bad weather or faulty intel or a miscalculation; some reason Bucky didn’t feel the need to triple-check. He'd have the weekend on the ground and that alone was enough cause for celebration.

Tonight, the pub is hazy with the smoke of cigarettes and fanned with the heat of alcohol. Glasses of warm beer exchange hands as easily as money. Buck sits at Bucky’s left, and there’s an empty chair to his right he’s hoping to fill. He can pick out the rest of his friends from the sound of their laughter alone. Bucky’s eyes scan over the room, the corners of his mouth urged upwards in a lazy smile: this is how things should be, he thinks, without the threat of a mission come morning.

And if tonight couldn’t get any better, he notices the way you creep in through the pub’s door.

Your eyes scan over the crowd until your gaze magnetizes to his. He's hard to miss, the only head turned in your direction, unabashedly waiting for you to notice.

Bucky’s eyes scan up and down your figure as you approach the table. You’re dressed in your Class A’s, hair styled into regulation curls, the cheeks that once sported oil smears now complimenting a ruby-red smile. It spurs him to remember what you’d told him earlier: something-something better up close. 

“Good evening,” you grin.

“There she is,” he greets you. “Come here often, stranger?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “When I can.”

The two of you pause to smile at each other.

“...Mind if I take a seat?”

Bucky looks down and realizes the way his hand is smoothing over the chair seat might seem like he’s saving it for someone else. He draws his palm back, stumbling out of his chair to pull yours out for you. “Ma’am.

You smooth your skirt under your thighs as you sit. “Thank you.”

“Crosby,” Bucky chides Harry across the table, “What are you doing? get her a drink!”

“No, no, that’s alright,” you raise a hand to motion for Crosby to sit back down. “I'm up early tomorrow.”

Crosby's not so quick to take a seat. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you tease, “Egan’ll drink for me.”

When the table laughs at your remark, something like pride swells in Bucky’s chest. That's my girl.

Both of you lean back into your chairs in sync, settling in to observe the conversation. Bucky’s look of adoration is unabashed, trailing along the curve of your eyelashes with lidded eyes. You’re so beautiful like this– effortless; with the relaxed slump in your shoulders and the poised way you’ve crossed your legs. He’s keen on the way you’re resting your weight on the armrest closest to him, and he’ll still be pleased if he’s only here as your accessory for the night. 

You could practically feel the way Bucky’s gaze swept over you, passing up and down your figure with a slight hesitation. He was holding back his affections, undoubtedly, if it wasn’t obvious by the way he was smoothing his hand over the back of your chair but stopping short of draping an arm atop it. 

When you lean into him, you’re sure to have your shoulder bump gently against his. Go ahead.

Bucky seems to take the hint. He rests his arm atop your chair, fingers brushing against your opposite shoulder like he’s waiting for further instruction. You hum with laughter at the feeling.

“Is this okay?”

When you turn to face him, he’s already pulling away, afraid you’ll bite. 

You settle into his side. “It's perfect.”

That's all he needed to hear.

He brings his chair closer until your seats are touching, melding both of your spaces into one for you to share. Your gaze is still fixed in your lap, half-afraid of ruining the moment with a misplaced word, your breath in your throat even as Bucky inches closer. At the table surrounded by pilots and airmen, this space feels intimate– isolating yourselves amidst the haze of the pub until it’s the two of you alone.

When he leans in to whisper, Bucky’s lips brush feather-light against the shell of your ear. “You look beautiful.”

A shiver runs up and down your spine at his words. When you turn to look at him, he’s close, impossibly close, so close you’re afraid he’ll see the way your irises tremble with misplaced confidence. But he’s patient, content in the moment you’ve stolen together. 

Before you can speak, your hand’s pulling the sprig from your lapel.

“Now, what’s this?” Bucky asks curiously, taking the plant between his fingers. It’s so fresh its wood is still damp with afternoon rain, the flowers adorning it still retain their shape. Spinning it between his pinched fingers, he studies it in wonder. 

“Those are those flower things, John,” you grin, pausing to nervously retreat to the opposite armrest. “Wild cherry blossoms.”

Bucky tucks the sprig into his lapel gingerly. You slump a little further into your seat.

Air service command decides that a sunny Thursday morning is the perfect time to reschedule the mission lost. Aside from the immediate threat of warfare, the day couldn’t have been any more picturesque.

The tail end of April brings warm breezes meant as a preview of the upcoming summer; and when Bucky looks up at the sky through his aviators, he wonders if the troposphere is any less colder. The B-17s creep slowly out of their hangars like waking giants– in the meantime, he slings his bag over his shoulder and counts the altocumulus clouds peppering the sky. 

They’re just like the white petals strewn across the Thorpe Abbotts’ lawns. The wild cherries are beginning to fruit upon the branches; he wonders if you’d tell him you’d miss the sight of them adorning the trees if it’s worth the smell of cherries after.

He hears someone call his name, and you’re there, bounding on the tarmac towards him.

The streak of oil on your nose matches nicely with your stained coveralls. When you skid to a halt in front of him, Bucky lets you find your breath, tugging your hefty gloves from your hands to stick into your back pocket. His mouth opens and shuts as he scans over you, unsure if he should be the first to break the silence and ask if you’re alright.

“Are you heading out?”

He takes off his aviators and meets your gaze with his. “I guess I am.”

“Okay,” you cough, nodding your head. “Okay.”

Your hands smooth hastily over the woolen lapels of his flight jacket, your lip caught behind your teeth. Bucky watches you before he can think to flinch away, looking down to notice the way your eyebrows furrow in the middle as you brush off nonexistent dirt. His tie’s loose, and you take the liberty of tugging it further up his neck– strangely enough, Bucky finds himself looking upwards, amused. This is a ritual for you, he realizes, a way to make him tangible while you find the words to say.

Finally, you rest your forehead against his shoulder, exhaling in defeat. “...You’ll be fine.”

The words are spoken like they’re for you to hear and Bucky to understand.

“Course I’ll be fine,” he laughs, cradling your waist with his arm. “I don't go down that easily. Besides–”

Somehow, you understand to pull away from his shoulder. Although you keep your hands on his jacket, there’s enough space for him to pull his lapel to the side and reveal the uniform underneath. There, tucked in his breast pocket, is the outline of a sprig from the wild cherry tree, as close to his heart as it can possibly be.

He winks. “I’m takin’ you with me.”

“John, don’t–” your fingers trace across the shape sadly. “Don’t do that.”

His hand envelops yours, stilling your trembling fingers with a squeeze and calming them with a smile. He doesn’t seem worried; nowhere as worried as you find yourself, and somehow it makes it a little better.

“For your peace of mind,” his voice is low, the words only for you. “Can’t have my pretty girl worrying, right?”

Buck strides behind the two of you, nudging John as he passes by. “Load up, Bucky.”

Bucky nods at his friend in acknowledgment. “Be there in a second.” 

Now, your features are sullen, gently tugging his lapel to cover the outline of the twig in his pocket again. 

“I should let you go. I'll miss you,” you admit. “I always do.”

Bucky brings a hand to cup your jaw, his thumb smoothing a rhythm across your cheekbone.

You can’t think of anything else to say.

“...I just wanted to let you know how I felt before you left.”

The sudden heat coursing through Bucky’s chest almost makes him want to abandon the mission. In his hands, the looming threat of burning engines and inevitable loss seems so much more real. His jacket stays between your fingers, digging into the plush material like you’re hesitant to release him to the sky. 

“I'll be fine,” Bucky whispers, leaning to bring himself closer to you.

Somewhere in your haze, you can feel his lips brush against yours in permission. You respond with a soft nod, a shy please– and relief seeps through your veins when he presses his lips to yours to dull the ache.

He begins slowly, allowing you to get used to the feeling of contact, relish the moment into your hands. His arms hold you flush against each other– somehow, the pressure takes the edge off, and you respond with your own like it’ll convince him to stay. Though his time is drawing near, your lips part a little wider, and he responds with a sweep of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You push off of him right as someone behind you calls his name. Heavy, ragged breaths exit you as you try to fight tears and the undeniable feelings you have for the pilot doomed. A noise betrays you when it spills from your lips; a quiet sob that he’s already leaning down to kiss better.

“I’ll be back for you, gorgeous. I promise.” Bucky presses his lips to yours, feather-light. "We’ll be okay.” 

And when he says it like that, you can’t help but believe it. 

The taste of you is still buzzing atop his lips by the time Bucky pulls up the yoke. Thorpe Abbotts shrinks into the distance, further and further away until the cherry trees on the ground are dancing underneath the shadows the clouds cast onto the earth. In his mind, you’re still there, standing beneath a thousand petals falling like confetti, waiting for him to land. 

His words to you are lost among the roar of the twin engines– I'll be back.

“...John.”

“John.”

“Bucky, wake up!”

“Hmm?”

Your hand is rubbing up and down his arm before he can startle himself awake. When his vision unblurs, his first sight of the morning is one of you backlit by the sun, an orange glow around your face like a halo. You’re the angel standing in your shared bedroom, coaxing him awake, and Bucky decides this must be heaven.

“G’morning, beautiful.” A sleepy grin stretches across his face. 

“Good afternoon,” you giggle. 

“Afternoon? Already?”

“John, it’s half past twelve,” you tell him as he rubs his eyes. “You said you’d help me get after the living room.”

“It's too early,” he murmurs. “Lay with me.”

“John–!”

You barely have a moment to protest when he’s surging forward, wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you back onto your mattress. Unfairly, his advantage is that you’re weak with laughter, yelping when he pulls you down to his chest and rolls on top of you for good measure. Your hand swats weakly at his back as you giggle, the morning scruff on his face tickling your cheeks when he peppers your face in kisses. Your fingers card through the messy brown curls atop his head– maybe you can be convinced to stay in bed a little longer.

Later that afternoon, the windows of the living room are pushed open as far as they go and the curtains are fluttering in the spring breeze. It’s the end of March, and the nascent Wisconsin spring ushers itself in through the door. Outside, patches of grass poke through the melting snow and the overcast clears– the perfect time to start fresh with some spring cleaning.

Bucky pushes the couches against the wall so you can drape the rug over the railing of the front porch. He throws paper, and you throw scissors, and he pretends to be a sore loser about it when you hand him the mop. By the time you’ve halfway finished sweeping the floor, Bucky finally decides what radio station he wants to listen to.

He perks up the moment he recognizes the tune. “Oh, I love this one!” 

A smile spreads across your face. You know this one, too. “Here we go.”

Bucky’s already gliding across the living room floor in time to the music, never mind the fact that the mop is dripping water while he uses it as a microphone stand. You playfully roll your eyes, pausing your sweeping to tap your foot in time. He swings his arms, pointing at you in dedication when he begins to sing.

“Never saw the sun shining so bright– never saw things going so right,”

You offer him your palm when he approaches and he takes it gingerly, spinning you around.

“Watching the days hurrying by– when you’re in love, my, how they fly!”

Bucky gestures grandly in your direction, leaning down to speak into the end of the mop handle like an announcer. “Ladies and gentlemen…MY WIFE!”

“My turn?” you prop your broom handle up. “Blue days, all of them gone…nothing but blue skies…”

“FROM NOW ON–!”

Both of you complete the verse as a duet, holding the note as a shout rather than the dulcet way that Ella Fitzgerald had intended it. If you’d stayed focused, the living room would have been spotless an hour ago, but here you are, dancing arm-in-arm with your husband as he revels in your newfound singing career. You take a joint bow when the song ends, a reverent kiss from Bucky your encore.

“My girl's a superstar,” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss you again. “My superstar.”

“That reminds me,” you grin. “There's something in the garden you should see.”

Your fingers lace with his as you lead him through your home, nudging open the screen door to the backyard. Slowly waking from its winter slumber, sprouts emerge from the thawing dirt and the remnants of snow piles melt into the ground. Bucky raises your conjoined hands to his mouth, blowing hot air between your palms to warm them. “You’re gonna catch a cold, baby.”

“We'll only be out here a second,” you say. “Look!”

Sprouting along the fenceline are the reams of begonias you’d forgotten to uproot before the winter frost came. Lo and behold, they’d survived, now unfolding under the light of the spring sun. Their petals are delicate white along the stalk, bending slightly in the spring breeze. You kneel before them to get a closer look, beaming proudly– Bucky’s eyes light up when he sees how happy you are, crouching down next to you.

“Would you look at that,” he whistles, running a hand along the flowering buds. 

“I can't believe they survived,” you lean forward, scanning over the flowerbed. “I really thought the cold would kill them.”

The realization hits him; he’s seen this shape of flower before. “These look exactly like–”

Your smile is practically ear-to-ear. “The wild cherries in Thorpe Abbotts, right?”

He nods, studying the flower between his fingers. They even feel the same. 

“I think they’ll be in full bloom by May,” you lean into his chest as he drapes an arm atop your shoulders. 

“You should be proud,” Bucky muses, pressing his lips to your temple. “They’re the second prettiest flower in this garden.”

(It takes you a second.)

“Stop,” you laugh, shoving him lightly. Bucky allows himself to fall onto the wet grass with the satisfaction of making you blush.

Mid-afternoon creeps in slowly, the setting sun casting light from its peak at the west face of the house. It was the perfect time to recline on the living room couch and enjoy the direct sunlight before it shifted away. Bucky savors the moment by stretching lazily across the couch, feeling the tension in his spine release with a satisfying pop. 

“What do you think?”

Bucky raises his head at the sound of your voice. You gesture towards the end table, now decorated with a single stalk of the begonias from the garden in a glass vase.

“You picked them early?” he yawns.

“One of the sprouts looked ready,” you tilt your head, inspecting the arrangement. “Something to make the living room nicer.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment, shutting his eyes. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

It's more than evident that Bucky’s losing the battle with sleep, and seeing how the sun hits him just right makes it difficult to stay awake yourself. You consider the implications: it’s more than likely you’ll both wake up after the sun has set, but it’ll be a reason to justify takeout and late-night TV with him. Toeing off the heels of your shoes, you amble down until your weight rests comfortably atop his chest.

“Move over,” you murmur, settling into the crook of his neck. He lets out a pleased hum right as your thigh slots between his.

Your hand feels around until it finds his dangling over the side of the couch. Lacing your fingers together, Bucky brings the back of your palm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the skin that lingers.

“I was thinking we’d go somewhere for dinner,” you mutter, shutting your eyes.

Bucky nods. “Whatever you want, beautiful.”

His hands urge underneath the hem of your shirt, palms smoothing firmly up the plush of your sides. With your face slotted in the crook of his neck, he can feel the way you smile. The only thing he can think to do amidst his fog is press a trail of lazy kisses to the side of your face. 

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, fingers curling gently into your waist. “Feels good.”

You giggle. That drowsy little giggle– he swears, it’ll kill him someday. 

Before he falls into slumber, Bucky opens his eyes to remind himself of the life he’s made with you; stolen kisses and singing out of tune and the vase of white flowers in the house you live in together. Neither of you had ever really left behind Thorpe Abbotts– but you’re here, with your head on his shoulder and your fingers interlocked, underneath the sunlight of a lazy afternoon. 

John Egan never doubted he’d be back. He was just happy that he’d come back to you.

“Sleep,” you press a chaste kiss to his neck. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

And finally, John can believe it.

[hippolotamus]

another installment of what I'm calling the cleopatra series. this time from Eddie's POV because I got in my Buddie feels. part 1 here 💙

late for the love of my life | 7x06 Coda | 912 words | G

“Hey, how was it?” Marisol wraps her arms around his waist, giving him a peck on the lips. 

Eddie barely suppresses the urge to flinch and turn away. Which is maybe a tad dramatic, except for the way it isn’t. Because the past 24 hours have held more than a few revelations. None of which Eddie is ready to share. 

Despite the layers of clothing between them, his skin tingles and crawls where she touches him. If he didn’t have years of experience being exposed to fluids, substances and people he didn’t want anywhere near him, he thinks he would have wrenched away from her by now. No, he definitely would have. But he’s a professional at hiding his personal reactions, both on and off the job. 

Yes, he’s made progress in therapy, but the instincts to hide himself, to put up walls and masks, are still easily activated. Handy for moments like now, when he can’t escape his girlfriend. Or when he has to smile big for the crowd and pretend the perpetual feelings for his best friend don’t exist when said best friend barrels back into the room all lovestruck and covered in soot from his boyfriend. 

“It was good. Really nice, actually.” That much is true. Because it was. Honestly, the whole hospital room chic was perfectly Maddie and Chim. 

“Nice?” She asks in a teasing tone, squeezing tighter and clinging to his torso like a koala. 

His breathing is acceptably even but the urge to peel her off, to tell her that she should probably go home because his heart rate is skyrocketing, his fingers and toes are tingling, and he’s beginning to feel claustrophobic is anything but. His built in panic mode suspects there isn’t enough Jell-o in the universe to undo this. Again, dramatic, but he thinks he’s within his rights to think so right now. 

“Yeah, I-” He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut and inhales as deeply as he can manage. “Y’know, I’m, uh, still feeling a little worse for wear from last night. I should-” He doesn’t even finish the sentence, just points vaguely in the direction of his bedroom. 

Marisol’s relaxed ‘welcome home’ look turns concerned as she furrows her brow and holds the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stay? I should probably stay over in case you need–” 

“Really,” he interjects, backing out of her hold, “I’ll be fine. Just need to sleep it off, I think. You should go. Home. To your place.” Smooth, Diaz. “I mean, because I’ll probably be restless, y’know?”

“I can sleep on the cou-”

“No,” he says more forcefully than intended. He should be grateful she wants to stay and take care of him. He should. He is. But not the couch. Not… Buck’s bed. His place. Their place.

“Oh.” She takes a step back and he should probably feel worse about the way she looks so dejected. “I, um, I understand. Talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah, talk tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow when I’ve had a chance to reset. When the twin alcohol and love hangovers have hopefully, finally died off. When I’m not seeing an endless mental projection reel of reminders like Or, y’know, you could have mine. Then why are you in hospital jail? Stay with me, Buck. Him choking on blood. You saved him. Abby. His fiancee is Abby. Showoff. My blood on him. Hey, Buck. You think you’re expendable. They’re all dead. I, uh, misunderstood the assignment. Three minutes and seventeen seconds. She sees me. It was a date. 

The front door clicks in the latch and he immediately turns the deadbolt, noting how his pulse drops to a debatably more normal range. He wants to settle on the couch, under the covers in his bed, both and neither all at the same time. In the end he migrates to the kitchen, which really shouldn’t surprise him. 

He runs his fingers over the backs of the chairs, circling around until he’s standing between the table and main counter. Am I one of the things that makes you sad? So now am I allowed to ask how you are? But you do eventually - you process it? 

Eddie turns toward the fridge, drawn to Shannon’s photo. He plucks it from under the magnet, running his thumb over the glossy print. 

“Can never quite get my timing down, can I?” He huffs out a wet chuckle. “God, I wish you were here right now. I could really use someone to talk to.” 

If it wasn’t after midnight he would probably drive himself to the cemetery to sit on the stone bench. To talk to someone that can’t talk back but would nonetheless tell him what an idiot he is. To unfairly water her grave with tears shed because he always thinks he has more time. You might have noticed I almost died. Again. And then I thought, this is it. This is the last day of my life. We’re all going to die alone. That’s what she said to me and Hen. 

Truthfully he’s not sure who he’s thinking of more — Shannon or Buck — as he slides to the floor, still clutching her picture, beginning to sob and shake as the words I love you so much flash like a neon reminder of his poor timing. Does it really matter? Because either way he’s missed his chance. 

But I guess it’s your mess now. 

Part 3 (Buck's POV)

[fandomlit]

and scene (sbi x reader)

summary you make the mistake of telling your friends that your sociology class is boring. they change that for a day.

warnings swearing, implications of suggestive themes, fighting (but playfully)

a/n aka i’ve been watching too much gilmore girls lately

gif cred belongs to @m-iyaeto​

in a lecture hall with two hundred students, it was easy to get bored. it was rare that the professor’s eye was tuned directly into one particular student, and even more rare that that student was you. sociology was an interesting topic, but not interesting enough to keep you from nearly sliding out of the small, cramped seat as you dozed off.

your attention was finally grabbed when the door slammed open. you sat up straight in your seat as a familiar blur stormed toward the row you sat at, demanding, “y/n l/n!”

of course, it only could’ve been wilbur soot.

the entire class stopped short to ogle at the tall man now staring down across four students to where you sat in your row. your professor didn’t seem to know what to say in that moment.

“where were you this morning?”

your heart was already racing from all the attention that had suddenly been turned on to you. you racked your brain but you would’ve sworn you had never made plans with wilbur for that morning, had he not been so quick to interrupt you.

“so what, it-it’s one night of hot, searing passion and then you’re gone?” he demanded, voice too loud and too clear throughout the suddenly too small lecture hall. you swore you had never felt so much heat fill your body; you had certainly not spent the night with your best friend.

“wil, wh-”

“oh, save your excuses for tonight!” he yelled out. giggles and murmurs were starting to reach your ears as you started to lift yourself out of your seat. “yeah, we’re still having dinner with my parents, by the way!”

before you could yell at him and protest, the door came crashing open for a second time. “y/n!”

it was technoblade, out of breath and gripping flowers. his vermillion gaze was locked on you and you felt like a deer suddenly in a big, bright headlight. 

“y/n, this can’t be the end for us,” technoblade spoke in his strong, powerful voice and suddenly you hated your friends so, so much. “not when i still feel this way for you.”

“you had your chance, brother!” wilbur yelled down to the longer-haired man.

your professor took this chance to speak up, “gentleman, i do not think this is the space for this dispute-”

technoblade cut him off without a thought, “you’re telling me you’re the better option out of the two of us?”

“i was the first!” wilbur started to descend down the steps again toward his brother. “she never told you about that night in the rain, did she?” that’s when technoblade threw him into a headlock and suddenly they were wrestling on the likely-disgusting carpet of the lecture hall. your classmates were cheering and laughing all around you, but you were absolutely mortified. just when you had buried your face in your hands, the door slammed open for a third time and a whistle blew in the room.

your jaw nearly hit the floor when you saw it was tommy, wearing a terribly cheap-looking policeman’s costume with the loud whistle between his lips. did they take him out of school for this?

“you two, break it up!” he yelled dramatically, tearing his brothers off of each other. “no crimes of passion in the university!” they finally broke apart in a fit of suppressed laughter and breathlessness. “see what you’ve done, y/n?” all eyes were on you again. tommy slung his arms over his brothers’ shoulders. “let this be a lesson to you all! never fall for the siren that is y/n l/n!” 

wilbur and tommy bowed as the class cheered and hollered. technoblade nodded at you and threw the bouquet of flowers. one of the guys in front of you caught it and offered it to you. you couldn’t help but let an embarrassed laugh slip as you took the arrangement into your hand. your smile made wilbur and tommy let out a loud cheer and technoblade clap before they scampered out of the class.

you threw your warm face into your hand again as the class’s excitement died down and your professor began, “well..” you heaved a loud sigh that made the girls next to you laugh again. “i think l/n here made friends with too many theater majors..” the class chuckled. “you did know those gents, correct?”

you nodded and gathered up what voice you could, “not as well as they implied, but..” the class broke into more laughter. “yes. they’re my best friends.”

“good, good,” the professor chuckled. “well class, let’s take this as an example of breaking societal norms.” you tuned the professor out again as you willed the embarrassed heat to leave your body, pressing a cool hand to your forehead.

you were going to get those damned boys back.

[veenus777]

Can I request a Wilbur Soot where the reader and him have been dating for like 8/9 years and in one of tommys mod videos they just spend it on a cute Minecraft date, maybe they have a fake proposal where Wilbur gives reader a diamond and it’s really cute? Feel free to go anyway you want with this!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

-anon🦋

◜Minecraft Date◞

┊ ᝰ﹕Just Fluff and a little drama, SFW, Reader GN, English from Google translate

┊ ᝰ﹕Thank you very much for your order, it was my first and it made me very happy! I confess that I had to watch some of Tommy's videos to do it, I hope you like it <3

♤ Ever since you and Wilbur started dating a few years ago, you've made a tradition of every Friday being reserved for date nights and it's always worked out well.

♧ Until today when the restaurant called saying there was a problem with reservations which resulted in nowhere to go and that left you feeling discouraged.

♤ Tommy, knowing what happened, decides to invite them to participate in his weird Minecraft mods video.

♧ You end Wilbur up accepting and staying home for game night.

♤ Chaos is the definition of everything, Tommy running and screaming as he is being chased by some horror entity.

♧ While Philza just tries to build his house in peace while being continually hindered by Charlie.

♤ Somewhere between gathering resources and laughing at Tommy getting killed by Chucky, you get the brilliant idea to turn your date night into a Minecraft date.

♧ Wilbur immediately agrees and you look for a village to make your place and everything looks beautiful with rugs and flowers.

♤ However, the peace was short-lived, because as soon as Tommy and Cherlie found out about the idea, they made it their personal mission to destroy your date.

♧ You only turned around for three seconds before being blown to death by a TNT placed by Charlie.

♤ And a war began, on one side you and Wilbur trying to build your meeting and on the other Tommy and Charlie doing everything possible and impossible to ruin it.

♧ And in the middle we had Philza who simply gave up on all of you and went off on his own to create his own house.

♤ They exploded your venue a total of six times before you guys finally gave up and looked for another place for your date.

♧ However, it seemed that Tommy had predicted it since the choice of mod didn't help his goal at all, and every time you had any moment of peace and tranquility it ended with you both being chased by Jason or Frankenstein.

"We're that couple in horror movies that goes out to make out and ends up dying" Wilbur says as his character walks around looking for somewhere safe

"Wow, what a comforting babe" you respond ironically

♤ You decide to dig down to the badrock and build your place there, without the chance of being interrupted by your friends or any mob.

♧ Wilbur decorates the place with plants on the wall and a table in the middle, carpet and flowers everywhere.

♤ He gives you cooked meat and fish and you just sit and talk.

"I'm sorry we can't go on a real date"

"it's not your fault will, and anyway we're having our date now"

"Well but that doesn't stop me from giving you something precious and expensive" he jokes and throws some diamonds to you

"Ohh is that a propose?" You say laughing

"Yes Madam, would you like to spend the rest of your cubical life building houses and mining by my side? I promise you a huge house and all the diamonds in this game" he says in a pompous voice

"Wow it's impossible to deny it my good sir after all this is every person's dream" you respond in the same tone

♧ The conversation doesn't last long before Charlie invades the place.

"I can't believe my eyes! You betrayed me, Wilbur, with that!" Charlie arrives, hitting Will and making a big show of it. "And our children?! Our love was nothing to you?!”

♤ The fight lasted for a good few minutes resulting in the room being broken and everything being blown up, as well as one death for willbur.

♧ The recording didn't last any longer and soon Tommy finished it.

♤ And the rest of the night was just you and Will relaxing on the couch watching some cliché romantic comedy, without any kind of explosions or murderous chases.

.˚｡  💋 .˚｡ 💌

[nanamikentoseyebags]

i'm nightcrawling to you

how come that every night he finds himself at your doorstep? why do all the ways lead him to you? how is it that in the pounding heart of this bustling metropolis, you are the only person he can come to?

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

content: extremely satoru-centric, hurt/comfort, just satoru turning up at your door every night in an attempt to feel something again

a/n: i love him so much i need to get inside his head and sweep all the bad thoughts out :(

At night Tokyo is mired in the noise of cars, loud voices of people who fill its streets at this late hour and argue about their trivial, insignificant problems, irrelevant to what is now happening in the heart of this metropolis. The city is suffocating in smog and soot, writhing, riddled with road lines, silently crying out for help, flashing muffled blueberry-colored store signs that are scattered across the map like sores on the body of a sick man. People rush home, causing it to itch and make it squirm. The city waits. It waits for all the commotion to die down, for the streets to sink into darkness and emptiness, for only then can it breathe. One more hour and...

A frantic inhale.

The multicolored night lights, the countless illuminations, a myriad of car headlights fade, melt into a kind of haze, like under a misty veil, and again as if from the depths of a deep blue ocean, emerges a mass of thousands of people, who believe that this place is the root of all their misfortunes. They move swiftly toward their dwellings, cursing their jobs that leave them unsatisfied and exhausted, but which allow them to live a relatively normal life. Need to last another hour…

A frustrated exhale.

The eerie shadows cast by the houses and the feet of the passersby slowly turn into a lingering inky darkness of the night that swallows up the entire city. The last person stranded on the road crosses the threshold of their house, closing the door behind them with a rattling thud. The motley signs, once pulsating in the center of the city, darken, revealing the faint glow of stars floating in the sky. The golden iridescence of random car headlights no longer makes it squint. The tired city takes that much-needed greedy breath of air...

A sharp inhale.

The harsh chilly air burns Satoru Gojo's lungs, as he slowly strides through the now empty streets of the weary city. His hands, stuffed into the pockets of his black jacket, involuntarily clench into fists in an attempt to warm his freezing fingertips. He shivers, pressing his head into his shoulders, trying to hide from the piercing wind that so mercilessly ruffles and tangles his snow-white hair and uneasy thoughts. Left all alone, he muses with a slight melancholy about his fate, written by someone's ruthless hand in the book of life…

An exhausted exhale.

"So strange," he thinks to himself, looking with unfathomable sadness at the soft inviting light coming from the windows of the little apartments in these big anthills of the concrete jungle, "in all my life I've never had a place I could call home. Where am I going? Where are my feet leading me? Is someone waiting for me?" A sad smile appears on his face as memories, like the pages of an album, begin to turn over in his head. Moments when he lost his home in the form of his best friend. Moments when he found it again in the form of his students. The moments when you helped him rebuild it from the scratch, replacing the burned out pieces with the solid foundation of your care. Moments when, for fear of destroying everything, he left again, leaving you there, safe, because with him coming, the chances of losing everything in an instant seemed to be infinite...

A sorrowful inhale.

Light slanting rain begins to fall from the dense clouds floating in the sky, beating on the curtained windows and blanketing the shivering city like a thin cloth of invisible threads with pearls dangling on them. Satoru let the occasional drop land first on his disheveled hair, and then drip in small trickles from his glasses, covering his already frozen face with chilling moisture. He does not turn on his infinity, allowing himself that rare weakness of feeling human. Heavy droplets come down from the roofs, drumming on the iron awnings, water grumbling angrily in the rusted gutters. Wet, gloomy houses stare at the lonely and lost man with their weeping windows.

…

A new gust of wind whips another batch of memories into his face, the irrepressible longing reverberating in his heart when he thinks about them for too long. The scraps of conversation brought by the raging weather play a faint melody in his ears. Satoru chuckles bitterly, as if right now he can hear the students calling him a bizarre, annoying, lanky sensei, who used to insert his ridiculous comments here and there. He never takes offense; on the contrary, he does everything he can to be one, the odd teacher who would do anything to make his students' youth look like the spring of their lives. Even though it makes him seem like the biggest fool on the planet. Somewhere within himself, he hopes they'll never have to find out how utterly tattered his soul is. And now, convinced that all of his students were sleeping soundly, he goes outside in an effort to find the way to his own sanctuary.

…

The weeping sky brushes away the leaden clouds from its blanket as if they keep preventing it from observing the unfolding of a story that has long been written. With a sinking heart, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone, Satoru Gojo reaches for your door, stopping for a moment, unsure whether you should be bothered at this late hour. At the last moment, allowing himself to be a little selfish, he makes a few quiet knocks on the door and awkwardly hides his hands behind his back. For a few seconds, nothing happens. He heeds, not knowing for sure what he's hoping for: that you've been asleep for a long time and won't catch him in this miserable state, or that you were waiting for him after all, feeling this strange connection between the two of you. Suddenly the door swings open, revealing your small figure. The bright light emanating from your apartment on this dark night does not dazzle him, but rather cradles him with its invisible hands, trying to give him its warmth. The smell of homemade food fills his nose, beckoning him to peak in. Satoru stands motionless, looking at you with a fluttering heart. So familiar, so homely, with a smile stepping away from the door, inviting him to go inside. And he thinks, "It's so strange, in all my life I haven't had a place I could call home, it seems... it's always been here."

A relieved exhale.

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

tags: @shamelessperfectionhideout @margumis @vagabond-umlaut @4sat0ruu @a-nuisance-called-sam @strawberrystepmom @rossithepixie @suckonlimes @jazminetoad @nikokopuffs 💛

art and dividers aren't mine <3

[moodywyrm]

shqehdunw the urge to cuddle naked with abby and not even in a sexual way but just bc i want to be close to her 😞 (chubby reader) like she’s laying in bed w just some boxers and a hoodie nd you come in, instantly undressing into some cute lil panties and she sits up like 😏 oh okay

but then you just climb into bed, snuggling into her as close as possible and tucking ur head into her chest :( nd she hugs you, laying back down and rubbing your back,, until you push closer to her and start sliding your hands down, tugging at her hoodie and whining that she’s “not close enough”.. she finally gets the hint and squeezes u closer, letting u slide her hoodie off nd pressing you against her :((

AHHH I NEED IT

just fell to my knees irl

I've written something similar before here, but I wanna write this bc it's so fucking cute and so me, I crave non-sexual skin to skin contact

You've had one hell of a day, dealing with shitty coworkers and even shittier classmates, and honestly the only thing you want is to be with Abby. Who you already know is home, because she texted you that practice ended early! So you literally slump into your apartment, greeting Haley and Soot at the door.

As you make your way to the bedroom, you're stripping off bit by bit; bag here, shoes there, rings and necklaces and earrings in their lil dishes that Abby placed around the apartment for you.

By the time you reach the bedroom, you're left in only biker shorts and a big shirt, socks lost somewhere along the way. Abby sees you, standing there, looking mildly dazed and she's like "Hiya baby, how was your day?"

And you don't even answer, just taking in the sight of her in worn out grey boxers and an old hoodie, looking so fucking cozy and warm and yours. So, logically, you take off your shorts and pull your shirt off, your bra following, throwing them all into the corner. And now it's Abby's turn to stare because her gorgeous girlfriend is standing in their room, naked except for some soft baby blue panties, looking so sad and needy. So she sits up, and reaches out for you, humming when you climb into her lap and push her back down.

She's about to tease you for it, maybe initiate something, when you plop down on her and cuddle into her chest, head tucked into the crook of her neck, arms wrapped around her. A part of her melts, because you're so fucking cute, so she wraps her arms around you, trying not to audibly coo at the way you let out a little sigh of relief.

You two are just laying there, you're practically naked, cuddling and enjoying the warmth, when she feels you huff and push your hands down her body. You sit up for a second, pulling at the hem of her hoodie and asking "Can you take this off?"

And of course she says yes?? A chance to be practically naked with her girl??? She'd be a Fool to say no. So she yanks her hoodie off and you mentally say a hallelujah for Abby's hatred of bras, because her tits are out and they look so warm and soft you need to lay on them Now. And you do!

Abby pulls you back down, relishing in the feeling of your skin against hers, the warmth at every point of contact. Your head is laying on her pecs, soft and a bit firm, the squish of her tits pressing against your chin. Abby manhandles you just a bit, pulling one leg up and over her hip, soothing one big, warm hand over the plush fat of your thigh. The squish makes her head go fuzzy, but what really gets her is the feeling of your soft tummy pressing against her, the way it slots against her abs and makes her all warm and fuzzy. Not to mention the feeling of your tits pressed against her torso, basically erasing any thoughts from her head that don't concern holding her girl. She has one arm around your waist, her hand lazily trailing your back.

You are completely blissed out, you really fucking needed this. The feeling of her sturdy body grounding you, the constant warmth she exudes because she's basically a fucking heater. Her touch is so unbelievably comforting, soothing every ache and making you sleepy.

Neither of you really care to escalate this, just enjoying the feeling of each others body. it's all so warm and tender and sweet, you absolutely end up falling asleep and waking up at like 2am, at which Abby makes you dinner to make up for the one you slept through </3

brb I'm gonna go cry into my stuffies I need her so bad

[antimony-medusa]

Alright, one last post about this for the road.

Do you like Fandom Exchanges? Do you like Hurt/Comfort? Do you like MCYT? Are you 18? Is this too many questions?

WELCOME TO THIS POST ABOUT THE HURT/COMFORT EXCHANGE. PULL UP A CHAIR.

This, as I just learned earlier this month, is a massive multi-fandom exchange on the theme of hurt/comfort. It's open to both artists and writers, and the expecations is a fic of at least 1000 words, or a piece of artwork that is not on lined paper and is at minimum clean linework that is at least 500x500 pixels. And you have from 16 March to 13 May to work on your gift so like, thousands of time. So easy. You can do that in a weekend, right? So achievable.

Some details: this is a massive multifandom exchange, so like, NSFW is allowed, and that means you have to be 18 to sign up. Also as it's a massive multifandom exchange, the mods are not policing what shows up in the tag set (there are literally 620 fandoms listed, can you imagine policing that, no,) so you almost definitely will see stuff in the tag set that makes you go "huh," but that's when you get to go "boy people sure like some stuff", and then you move on and go on to the stuff you're actually writing.

Tag Set?

Glad you asked. Okay so big Ao3 exchanges normally work off a Tag Set. They run a preliminary section where people can submit relationships and characters etc to a massive list, and then once it comes to actual sign-up time, you are only able to select stuff that is in the tag set for your offers and requests. So nomination period (where we're in right now), is important if you want to join an exchange, cause it lets you make sure that the relationships you actually want to offer, and then write/draw, are available to you.

[ID: An image of what the tag set looks like right now, open to the RPF section which contains SMPs— Empires, Origins, 3rd Life, Dream SMP, Hermitcraft, and SMPEarth.]

Tell me more about those tags?

Okay so, a general exchange works by allowing people to Offer and Request what fandoms and characters they want to write, and then the algorithm matches people's Offers to Requests, so that that person who Requested TMNT art is matched with someone who Offered that yes, they want to draw the turtles.

Within this specific exchange, they go a bit more granular. You both specify the relationship, and because this is a Hurt/Comfort exchange, you specify who exactly is getting hurt.

[ID: photo of the tags set, showing Philza & Technoblade & Tommyinnit & Wilbur Soot (hurt tommyinnit). ]

I know the dash loves hurting tommy, I've seen your exchange sign ups. I nominated that tag for you all. Never say I don't do things for you.

I didn't even think about empires, but someone already put flower husbands in the tag set, here's your chance to whump Scott.

[ID: photo of the Empires SMP tags, showing fWhip & Jimmy Solidarity (hurt Jimmy), Scott Smajor & Jimmy Solidarity (hurt Scott), Scott Smajor/Jimmy Solidarity (hurt Scott)]

And then because this is a FREEFORM exchange, you specify what freeform you want, which is your actual prompt for the fic/art you want. Some examples of the freeforms.

[ID: freeform tags reading: Comfort via food or cooking, Comforted by an animal, Doctor A has to talk B through operating on A, Hugging a person who isn't used to recieving hugs, Human experimentation, Hurt A is too tired/ill to move; calls B to take them home, Retainer lovingly cared for by liege, Reunion after character who was presumed dead returns.]

There are so many freeforms. (Note that the "this is an 18+ exchange" and "this is a dl:dr exchange" rules apply, some of the freeforms are about major archive warnings.)

Yes yes, I know exchanges, why are you telling me this.

Okay so, I'm doing the exchange, and I really want to match on MCYT, so I'm trying to lure as many people as possible to join me. Come on you want to join me so bad. There's 3rd Life AND Empires AND Dream SMP AND Hermitcraft AND SMPEarth in the tag set.

Yes but why are you telling me NOW?

Ah, because the tag nominations closes tomorrow, the 24th, so if you want to get a tag into the tag set— as I type this Scarian isn't into the tag set, so, y'know— your chance is to GO GO GO NOW HERE IS THE LIST TO THE TAG SET CHECK OUT WHAT IS THERE AND NOMINATE YOUR BLORBOS.

https://archiveofourown.org/tag_sets/14131

Whew. Long post. Enjoy your dash I hope you're having a good day.

[boydepartment]

Enhypen as Sad Songs

MASTERLIST

a/n: as per usual the song comes with a scenario ❤️

warnings- angst

JUNGWON- all i want- kodaline

you and jungwon were best friends for years. when highschool hit and he had to go away to become an idol you knew that was pretty much it for you two. there wouldn’t be anymore late night sleepovers, no more junk food at 3am together, no giggling while sneaking out, no nothing. or at least that’s what you thought. jungwon always planning to make time for you he always thought about how he could go on more adventures with you when he debuted. jungwon would have the money to take you anywhere you’d want. you didn’t know about any of his plans, so when you cut him off with a final goodbye he’s just left in confusion as to why you left him if you loved him.

HEESEUNG- your sister was right- wilbur soot

heeseung started out as your tutor for your english 101 class. you were struggling and needed help, heeseung would help you in more ways than english. he’d take you out on dates, give you stuff, you’d practically act like you were dating. all your friends hated the fact heeseung was this close to you. he had a reputation for using people, of course, it wasn’t true in the slightest. it had just been a rumour. hearing what your friends had to say about him made him so frustrated. heeseung never did anything to hurt you, but if that’s all anyone is ever going to see him as. then fine- he’d treat you exactly like they said he would. your friends were right.

JAY- how to never stop being sad- dandelion hands

you had always struggled working on anything. it was hard to do anything at all actually. from getting up, to trying to go get coffee every morning. jay hated seeing someone he loved so much drown out every single one of their feelings. he watched someone who he loved so much break themselves down. jay was close to you a few months go, you used to order coffee from him and it sprung up a tight friendship... until now. he didn’t know how to help, and telling you he was in love with you made it worse. it made it so much worse. you shut him out completely, because you felt your life was shit and you deserved it.

JAKE- single- the neighborhood

jake was your coworker who you had to style. you were previously his makeup artist and things quickly bloomed into more. you noticed how he would look at you differently every time you had to do his lip makeup. one time he finally took his chance. your relationship together was healthy, stable, and helped you enjoy your career. hybe didn't agree with it though and so you were both forced to separate. you were lucky that they just switched you to a makeup artist for another hybe group. you both only pass each other during award shows or filming. jake doesn't think either of you should be around each other, he's still got a crush and its obvious.

SUNGHOON- i was all over her- salvia palth

heeseung was your older brother, he came home for the summer. when both your parents were out he had a party with all his old and new friends. the party was big which surprised you, what surprised you even more was the fact one of the guys at this party started chatting you up. you found out his name was park sunghoon, he didn't really bother to ask your name. sunghoon was just all over you, not in a way of physically intimacy, just talking to you and not letting you give your attention to anyone else. getting this attention from a stranger made your naïve heart full, for him though, every stranger just made him feel safer. he had no intention being close to you after this party.

SUNOO- falling behind- laufey

sunoo watched all the couples around him, even jake had someone, which shocked him. no offense but the big goofball didn't even deserve you. sunoo watched as you joked with every one of his friends. sunoo didn't understand why jake was irritating him so much, he should be happy his best friend was happy. he didn't understand the reason why he was falling behind was because he was in love with you. he held hope that maybe you would catch on to his longing looks towards you. he wanted to call you his, sunoo wanted to have your shoulder be the one he can finally cry on. it got to the point where even riki found someone, everyone was falling in love but sunoo was falling behind.

RIKI- wasted summers- juju<3

riki was completely infatuated with you, he wanted to be around you 24/7. summer was the perfect time to be around you too, he got a small break from work and you didn't have school. riki missed going to school with you, however, this was his life now. he cherished every moment with you, from watching scary movies and holding your hand even if it was just for a split second. you'd always pull your hand away quickly though, whenever riki got closer to you, you'd pull away. but then you would call him and beg him to come over when the summer thunderstorms were too loud to deal with. while you slept soundly, riki cried next to you. he knew you didn't reciprocate his feelings, he didn't have to confess to you and get rejected to know that. riki knew that once his break was over he wasted like half of his summer trying to hold on your hand.